


More Gained, None Lost

by CordeliaRose



Series: Spilt Blood trilogy (a.k.a Merlin Gets Horribly Abused At The Hands of CordeliaRose Because She Beats Up Fictional Characters Instead of Facing Her Problems Trilogy) [2]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-30
Updated: 2016-01-24
Packaged: 2018-02-19 09:34:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 27,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2383466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CordeliaRose/pseuds/CordeliaRose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to Battle Scars. Post season 4 but before season 5. Merlin's been captured and is currently languishing in a rotting castle under the watch and torture of a vengeful enemy. Arthur and the knights of the Round Table are searching for him, but will they reach him in time?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone! This is the sequel to my fic 'Battle Scars'. I started writing this over a year ago and I'm not sure how many chapters there are to be. Enjoy!

"So where are we actually headed?" Gwaine asked in his soft Irish brogue.

Arthur finished attaching a saddlebag to his mount before turning to face the knight. The truth was, he had no answer. But he knew that wouldn't satisfy the knight; he was both concerned and angry, and he wanted his friend back, so a simple stated, "No clue," would only serve to infuriate him.

So instead Arthur only answered with, "We'll go to where we last saw Merlin, see if we can find any clues there."

For a moment Arthur thought that Gwaine was going to press him for more information. Instead, the knight shrugged and trudged off to his own stallion.

The king stared at him worriedly for a few seconds before glancing sideways and seeing Leon doing the same. They exchanged a short look full of unspoken meaning before going back to their supplies.

Once Arthur had tightened the last buckle he called out, "Listen up!"

Almost immediately, every knights' head snapped up to their king's. Not just out of loyalty, Arthur knew, or duty, but friendship.

Arthur proceeded to give one of the most heartfelt speeches he'd ever given. "I am your king; your leader; but also your friend. Merlin, to some, is just a servant. To me, he is more than that. Yes, a servant, but a loyal, giving servant at that. And a friend - perhaps the first true friend I have ever made. And I, more than anyone, should know a true friend apart from a false one. And to anyone who has properly met Merlin, they would surely agree that he is a great, great man.

"And I can promise you all something: we will get Merlin back."

He spoke with such conviction and love that, even though the odds were stacked against them, every man believed him.

LINE BREAK

They hadn't been riding for an especially long time when they came across a large body of water.

In the dusk, the water shimmered and rolled gently, and the pastel orange glow bounced off it in a way that no one could deny was beautiful.

Although they were desperate to find Merlin, the knights stopped for a moment and just gazed out over the rippling lake, each mulling over their private problems.

Arthur took the first step towards the edge of the lake, and once that tentative move had been made the others swiftly followed.

Once at the edge of the moving water, Arthur bent and scooped up a handful of the cool, clear water. He splashed his face with it, then rubbed his palms together to rid them of any dirt, finally dipping them in the water. Elyan was the first to copy his example, washing the dust and grime off his hands first, then his face.

Checking that no one was within hearing range, Elyan asked a question he'd wanted to for a long time, "How slim are the chances of getting Merlin back?"

Arthur inhaled sharply before answering. "Very. But if you asked anyone what the chances of a common-born man becoming a knight were three years ago, they would have said there was no chance."

"You made that happen, Arthur."

"So I'll make it happen again."

Elyan started to respond but was cut off by Gwaine's yell of, "Arthur!"

Both men looked up. Elyan stared, dumbstruck, but Arthur rose to his feet quickly and sloshed towards the centre of the lake. Then he too, stood speechless.

Freya gave him a gentle smile. Shyly, she proffered her arm forward, and introduced herself, "I'm the Lady of the Lake - call me Freya."

Moving slowly, Arthur grasped her hand in his and bent to press his lips to it softly.

As she moved, she radiated a faint golden glow, and her skin literally shone, like she had flakes of sunlight embedded in every patch of skin.

"Arthur." Then, clearing his throat he continued, "We're looking for our friend-"

"Merlin," Freya finished. At Arthur's look of surprise, she shrugged. "He is a…friend of mine."

"You're friends with him? You know him?"

"Very well," Freya said, smiling. "We were slightly more than friends, once."

Arthur paused for a moment, unable to comprehend the idea of someone like _her_ fancying someone like _Merlin_. He hurried on. "Do you know how to find him?"

"Take the path you feel is best. You'll know where to go from there."

"Thank you…?" Arthur said, more than slightly confused.

Freya smiled again. Arthur turned to walk back to the others. When he reached the shore, he looked back but saw only the lake, looking as beautiful and serene as it did before.

Arthur opened his mouth, ready to ask a hundred questions, but then closed it again. He knew no one would have any answers.

LINE BREAK

Merlin hadn't really bothered to keep track of time, or of where he was going – or rather, being taken. His mind was slapped back into sharp focus, however, when he was shoved to his knees in front of a face he never thought he'd have to see again.

Morgana Pendragon, sitting regal and haughty on a stone throne, smirked happily down at him.

"Merlin," she said disdainfully.

"Morgana," he replied, voice positively dripping with disgust.

The witch studied him for a few seconds, then stood and strode towards him quickly. The shoes she was wearing were heeled, and every time she took a step they let out an ominous-sounding click.

She looked well – too well. Her face was deathly pale, as always, but there was a hint of colour outlining her cheekbones. She was still as slim as he remembered her being, but not unhealthily so. And there was no sign of the injury she was meant to have.

"I know," she said suddenly, crouching so she was at Merlin's level. "About your magic."

Merlin's brain went into overdrive. He didn't know what to say. What if Morgana was calling his bluff? Eventually he settled for saying, "I don't know what you're talking about."

Morgana laughed softly. It echoed around the shadowy room in an overlapping cacophony of chuckles.

Then, suddenly vicious, she snarled, "Don't play games with me, Merlin."

He refused to answer and stared at her with unblinking, icy eyes.

"Fine then," Morgana snapped, when it was obvious she wasn't getting an answer. "Have it your way. Men!"

Merlin felt his arms seized. He kicked out, which did nothing but have his legs restrained as well. His mouth was forced open and his nose pinched shut. A liquid, lumpy and thick, was poured down his throat. It tasted of nothing but as soon as it hit his stomach, it burnt.

"Enjoy having no magic," Morgana cooed in mock-sympathy.

In between short breaths, Merlin gasped, "What – was – that?"

"Mutul. It's a poison; it will bind your magic like a rope. You'll find yourself without your precious magic. And you will be nothing more than a pathetic serving boy."

Morgana sashayed away, yelling over her shoulder as she did, "Take him to the dungeons!"

The henchmen bodily began to drag him out of the room. Merlin, too weak to properly resist, felt his consciousness slowly slipping out of his hands.


	2. Chapter 2

"Gaius!" Gwen shouted, clutching at her dress to tug it up and jogging after the ageing physician. When he turned, she greeted him with a comforting smile and a reassuring hand on his sleeved arm.

"I just heard about Merlin – one of the servants told me," Gwen said, panting slightly. "How are you coping?"

"As well as one can expect, milady," Gaius replied stiffly. He turned back to the window he had been staring out of prior to the interruption.

"Really, Gaius."

Gaius still did not turn from the window, but said softly, "I love Merlin more than you can begin to fathom, milady." He hesitated before speaking again. "He saved my life before I even knew his name, did you know?"

Gwen shook her head wordlessly and Gaius chuckled softly, tears beginning to glisten in his eyes like morning dew on a blade of quivering grass.

"He has the best heart of anyone I have ever known, Gwen, and I swear to the Gods that if he has been harmed in any way"- he gripped the window's ledge a smidgen harder –"they will pay."

LINE BREAK

"Rise and shine, sorcerer," Morgana said sweetly. Merlin opened his eyes to see a bleary image of the witch standing behind bars. No, wait…he was behind bars. Morgana was on the other side, slim fingers wrapped around the poles and face split in half where she rested her nose against a bar.

Once she saw his open eyes, the smirk came. "Good morning." The smile turned cruel, lips twisting to the side lopsidedly. "Sleep well?"

"What?" Merlin slurred. He had a hammer beating against his skull and a dull ache that was situated in his stomach.

As a response, Morgana bent over, intentionally giving Merlin a glimpse the full way down the top half of her dress. It failed to draw his interest as she'd hoped, but she carried on regardless.

Straightening up, she hefted with her a leather bucket. The jerking motion caused a liquid inside to slop over the edge slightly and Merlin eyed it worriedly.

Seeing the direction and nature of his gaze, Morgana's smile became a thousand fold more meaningful. "Oh, don't worry," she purred insincerely, "it's only water. I thought you could do with a …wake-up call, if you like."

She took a measured step back and with aggressive precision chucked the contents of the bucket at Merlin. The cold water hit him with more ferocity than a rabid dog and he gasped with surprise. He shivered, his thin shirt sodden and providing no warmth.

"Well, come on," Morgana quipped, suddenly with a manic smile decorating her features. "Not going to let a little water defeat you, are we?"

The way she said 'you' was full of scorn, and that alone was enough to motivate him to clench his teeth but stand up and walk over to the cell's door.

"I'm not going to let anything defeat me, Morgana," he said. He glared at her with such conviction that her smile faltered for a second before coming back crueller and brighter than before.

"We'll see about that. Guards!"

LINE BREAK

"Put him there."

The guards deposited the squirming man on the stone floor. Morgana studied the soaking servant and then issued her men a command to "leave us," and sat on her throne carved out of wood.

"Who is Emrys?"

Merlin started, both at the sudden sound of her voice in the before silent room and at the words. "How should I know?"

"I know you know. And I advise that you tell me now.

When it was evident she wasn't going to get an answer, Morgana stood up. "I'm giving you a choice Merlin, Merlin." She took out a small dagger and twirled it experimentally. "You can tell me who Emrys is."

Grasping the handle, she walked over to the crouched servant, "Or bleed yourself dry."

Merlin looked up and saw the dagger, but responded calmly, "Like I'd tell you."

The corners of Morgana's smile faltered as her frustration grew. She circled Merlin like a vulture focused on its prey. "The thing is, Merlin, I haven't forgotten everything about my past life. You were always so secretive. I know why now." She crouched down in front of him. "But that doesn't change anything." And resting the blade of her dagger on the nape of Merlin's neck, she whispered, "You will tell me who Emrys is."

"I don't know," Merlin said through gritted teeth. Morgana breathed deeply, trying to calm her anger, and dragged the dagger down slowly, leaving behind a line of blood.

"Such a pity," Morgana said, lifting the knife up and resting it at another point on Merlin's back.

With sudden viciousness, she swiped it across the pale skin. The line turned white and then red with blood, a few droplets spilling out and down across his back.

Merlin's face contorted and he bit his lip to stop any sound escaping.

LINE BREAK

"Guards! Take him to the dungeons!" Morgana called. She looked down on Merlin and smirked.

On his back was a carved pattern of intricate latticed lines. Each was deep and bleeding, but Merlin had not made a sound during the entire process.

"I admire your bravery, Merlin," Morgana said as her men walked in, "but I will break you."

LINE BREAK

The hooves made a noise akin to thunder as the group galloped through the woods. A few scattered logs were jumped over or avoided. When it became too dark to see the various rocks and wood, the group stopped, dismounted, and set up camp for the night.

"I wish we could keep going," Gwaine said absent-mindedly to Arthur, pushing stew around in a bowl with his fork.

"So do I, Gwaine," Arthur replied, staring into the fire like it held the answers to everything he wanted to know.

"I think we all do, Sire," Leon agreed, unpacking his saddlebag.

"We'll find him," Elyan added; Percival said nothing but nodded his agreement.

Looking around, Arthur silently thanked them all, and thanked his luck for having such loyal friends.


	3. Chapter 3

When Merlin panicked, he had a system. He'd developed the system when he was young and used it often. The system was to catalogue everything around him, one by one. It helped him to stay grounded.

So when he was thrown down in front of Morgana with his hands bound that was exactly what Merlin did.

Sight – Morgana, wearing a revealing dark purple dress and a menacing smirk. A dark, cold, stone room, with no furniture.

Smell – something metallic that was probably blood. Morgana's general reek of insanity.

Hearing – a leak in the roof that was causing a slow dribble of water to land with a splatter on the hard floor. Heavy breathing – his and Morgana's.

Taste – blood, both fresh and the slightly more metallic old stuff.

Touch – the harsh ropes on his wrists. The coldness of the floor seeping into his skin through his thin trousers.

He calmed slightly, though not by much. "So good of you to join me, Merlin," the witch chuckled. "Tell me," she carried on, slowly ambling towards the manservant, "what brings you out here? Could it be destiny," she yanked his chin up so his eyes met hers, "by any chance?"

Merlin refused her the luxury of an answer and sought to keep his face impartial to everything, although inside he was a jumble of emotions.

Morgana evidently wasn't satisfied with that answer and continued, releasing his face, "Answer me this, Merlin," she put an Arthur-like spin on his name, "who's Emrys?" She squatted down to his kneeling level and curled her arms around her knees. The only thing obscuring Merlin's view most of the way down the top half of her dress was his own stubbornness. "I've heard words and rumours that you're Emrys," Morgana practically cooed. "But that's just ridiculous, isn't it? You would never let countless people die just to keep your little secret safe, would you?" She regarded Merlin coolly for a few seconds. "You'd be just like me then."

Abruptly she straightened up and backed to a few feet away from him. "The other alternative," her voice was suddenly a lot colder and more business-like than before, "is that you know who Emrys is. So which is it? Are you, or are you not? And if you're not, who is he?"

Merlin looked her dead in the eye, something he'd realized to be quite unerring to his unfortunate enemy. "I know…nothing."

"I know you know!" Morgana shrieked. Her hands automatically went to her hair and she tugged at it, then flung it over her shoulders and faced Merlin, chest heaving with the exertion. "You will tell me Merlin. You will."

Merlin shrugged to the best of his ability (it was quite a hard thing to do with restricted hands). "I don't think I will, actually."

"Then I'll make you." An insane light had entered Morgana's eyes and she smiled manically. With the bright red lipstick that she had smudged across them, it seemed more like the painted on smile of a wooden doll than an actual threatening or remotely scary gesture.

"Beran sames!" Morgana cried, accompanied with a wild flung out palm.

Merlin coiled in on himself with the worst pain he'd ever experienced. There was a pulsating pressure in his skull that made it feel like it was about to explode; every nerve was screaming out in white-hot pain. His arms were on fire; so were his legs. His organs were rattling around inside of him, consumed by a temperature that was both achingly cold but dreadfully hot.

White hot lashes whipped across his eyes. Merlin closed his eyes, only to find that the action worsened the effect. He breathed deeply and began to list the senses.

Sight – black, from his closed eyelids. Ribbons of light that occasionally would dance into the otherwise unmarked abyss.

Smell – a lot more blood. Was he bleeding?

Hearing – Morgana laughing. The ropes on his wrists straining to hold him as he struggled. His own quick, shallow breathing. The leak in the roof.

Taste – saliva. Blood. Panic.

Touch – the ropes on his wrists that were digging in much more now. And now that he thought about it…a lot more coldness.

He refused to cry out, or scream. He would not. He would not break under Morgana.

Seeing that her tactic obviously wasn't working, Morgana tried again. "Feolan hige!"

The pain abruptly stopped but pins started to poke at his brain. They began to unravel it, strand by strand, picking his mind apart until they found the answer they wanted.

"It's-"

"Go on," Morgana said eagerly, raising her hand and clenching it into a fist. The pain magnified tenfold and Merlin groaned.

Merlin felt certain he was going to shout it out, and bit his lip to restrain himself. It started to bleed but he didn't notice. Eventually, when he felt he really couldn't hold it any longer, he muffled his voice by shoving his face into his sleeve. "It's me! I'm Emrys!" Fairly satisfied that she hadn't heard him, he dropped his arm.

"Ætstandan," Morgana said, satisfied but slightly mystified, not able to make out the muffled words.

Merlin glanced up and saw the witch striding towards him. "I have to admit, Melrin, I do admire your bravery. Very…touching."

"Thank you," Merlin said, mock-polite.

A flicker of annoyance reared up in Morgana's eyes but just as quickly as it came it went. "I have a treat for you, actually, for being so courageous."

"Really?" Merlin raised an eyebrow.

"But of course." Morgana smirked; he didn't trust that smirk.

Before Merlin could react, Morgana leaned in and crashed her lips to his. At first, he was too shocked to do anything apart from wonder _what the hell is she doing_ but after a few seconds, he pushed her away with great difficulty, considering his hands were tied and clumsy

Morgana laughed; a menacing thing that ricochet off the stone walls. Her lipstick, smeared across her cheek, glistened in the firelight like blood. Her messy, uncombed hair and pale face only added to the effect; her cackle froze its way into Merlin's skin and shudders possessed him, petrifying him.


	4. Chapter 4

A crippling pain shot through his stomach like a bolt of lightning. It left behind a trail of poisoned fire, slowly burning him from the inside out. The flames licked at his brain, boiling it until he could no longer think straight. Cramps started in his lower legs and fingers; his arms began to seize up and refused to move where he commanded them.

Morgana watched him writhe with a smile that gave him the final clue he needed.

"Your lipstick," Merlin gasped. "It's poison?"

"Not lethal, so don't fret," Morgana cooed. Her smile vanished and her face became emotionless once more. "Just so painful you'll wish it was lethal." When he failed to respond, she quipped, "Have nothing to say?"

Merlin couldn't find the strength to make any kind of retort.

Upon seeing that she failed to get anything from him, Morgana called in annoyance, "Guards! Take him to the dungeons." She exited the room, calling over her shoulder, "Don't be afraid to be too rough."

LINE BREAK

"Merlin!" Gwaine called, sprinting up to the servant in terror. "Hide me!"

The startled man replied, "What? Why? Gwaine, what have you done?"

"I may or may not have dyed the King's ceremonial shirt bright pink…"

Merlin sighed in exasperation. "Gwaine…" He rubbed his hands over his face and then groaned in defeat. "Fine. I give up." Juggling the two trays he was holding so they were both balanced on one arm, he grabbed an empty wicker basket and slid it down to his elbow, then picked up a bundle of herbs lying on a table in the kitchen. "Follow me."

"MERLIN!" Arthur yelled, stomping into Gaius's chambers with a wad of bright pink material thrown over his arm.

Merlin turned round with an innocent expression on his face. "Yes, sire?"

Arthur eyed him curiously and then said, "Have you seen Gwaine, by any chance?"

"No…why, what's he done?"

"Dyed my ceremonial shirt pink, and we have those nobles arriving in less than an hour. Sort it, will you?" Arthur didn't wait for a reply and threw his shirt at Merlin's face.

"Of course, sire," Merlin called after him as he stormed out back into the corridor.

"That was close," Gwaine laughed, clambering out of one of the many barrels and casting oats all over the floor.

"If Arthur finds you before I've managed to fix this," Merlin warned, "you will die. Death will occur."

"Which is why he won't. Cheers, Merlin!" Gwaine said jovially, heading towards the door. He opened it to find Arthur about to enter again, and paled.

"Gwaine!" Arthur yelled, backing Gwaine into the room.

"Thanks for everything, Merlin, but I've gotta dash!" Gwaine dodged past Arthur and out into the castle.

LINE BREAK

The pain had subsided to a dull, throbbing ache in his stomach. It was constantly there and constantly painful but at least it was not as strong as it had been.

For Merlin it was a tolerable pain and more of a nuisance than anything else. At least he could bear to move and think now.


	5. Chapter 5

"Hold up," Gwaine said suddenly. He leant back in his saddle, pulling on the reins gently. His mount swayed to a halt and began to tear at a small patch of grass and weeds, snorting when a fly flew too near to her eye. Gwaine dismounted easily and made his way to a thorny bush, patting his mare's neck briefly as he did.

He crouched down by the small nest of brambles and began to pick his way through, protected only by his weather-hardened leather gloves. One snapped back into his face and trailed a thorn down his cheek; he registered it with a hiss of pain but carried on regardless, digging further and further until he had reached the roots.

The others had likewise halted their rides but only Arthur had dismounted. He had stood by his stallion for a moment, holding the reins in a firm grasp and stroking his muzzle in an effort to calm down the flighty beast.

When Gwaine's elbow began to disappear into the thicket, however, Arthur looped the reins over his stallion's noble head and passed them to Leon, who accepted them with a stern grasp. Arthur ducked under the reins and weaved through the other steeds, careful to keep his cloak tucked close to his person so as to not startle the horses.

"Gwaine?" Arthur asked uncertainly. The knight ignored him and carried on with his meticulous search, uprooting a couple of branches and tossing them behind him. They hit his chestnut mare on the foreleg, who whinnied indignantly, kicked a few times, and then pawed the ground. Normally any one of these things would have attracted Gwaine's attention, but he paid no heed and continued digging. Arthur's mind registered that as a warning sign – of what, he was not exactly sure.

He laid a careful hand on Gwaine's shoulder. The knight shook it off irritably. When Arthur repeated the gesture, the knight spun round and drew his sword. Shocked into action, Arthur did the same and barely blocked the blow that would have sliced through his shoulder.

The two became locked in the deadly dance of a duel. They circled each other, Gwaine like a wolf stalking its prey, Arthur confused and reluctant to injure his knight, stepping almost perfectly in unison. Arthur's sword was raised upwards slightly; if thrust forwards, it would slip straight into his comrade's heart. In a similar fashion, Gwaine's was poised to slit the king's throat.

With every step, some of the fire went out of his eyes. By the time they had completed five full circles, the other knights' eyes wide and held tensely on the moving figures, Gwaine's arm sagged and his sword dropped to the floor, as if it were made of pure lead and was too heavy to bear.

"Arthur…I don't know why I did that. I'm sorry…it was like some demon was grasping a hold on me…"

Unseen, from behind a grainy, solid trunk, Morgana Pendragon lurked. Half of her body was cast in shadows; the other half was tense but her lips were curved up into a triumphant smile.

LINE BREAK

"It's a maze."

Merlin couldn't see the point of this. He'd managed to snatch a few hours of sleep in between the tortuous cramps of his stomach and now. 'Now' being Morgana dragging him outside of this bloody castle, right at the entrance of a maze.

It looked fairly simple; it was, as most mazes are, constructed of hedges. They were a varying green colour, ranging from a light sickly yellowish lime to a deep mossy hue. They had a strong, earthy smell. It was so potent that even in the shallowest of breaths, Merlin's nose detected the musky scent.

"I know it is." He frowned at his captor. "What's this for?"

Morgana smirked. "It's both physically and mentally exhausting. If you reach the other side within an hour, I'll let you go."

Merlin glanced at her. Her eyes were still gleaming with insanity, but held also a glint of honesty. Should he risk it? What Morgana said was true - in his already debilitated state, the maze would serve only to weaken him. However, if he was quick (and he knew he was intelligent, despite the constant insult of "Idiot!" he received from Arthur), then he could return to Camelot, and possibly be able to shed some more light on the situation of Morgana to Arthur. If he didn't make it out - then it was the same treatment as before, there was no extra penalty for not making it out in under an hour. What do you have to lose?

Merlin set off at a stumbling run.


	6. Chapter 6

The first thing that Merlin registered as he entered the maze was that it was _dark_. That sounded obvious, but it wasn't the usual deprivation of light that one experiences upon entering a candle-less room or venturing outside when it is night; but rather a suffocating feeling that you would never see the sun again. This darkness embraced him like an old friend and clung on just as tightly; this darkness let not one particle of sunlight in; this darkness was eternal.

Swallowing his fear down his throat with a vocal gulp, Merlin lifted his hand and uttered the first syllable of a spell, before remembering that he was void of magic and it would be worth nothing. He cursed instead, loud, angry words that bounced back at him.

He forced himself to be calm; a difficult task, considering he couldn't see anything, not even his hand in front of his face, and there was a chill in the air that stroked down his skin with hands of ice and frost. Merlin regulated his breathing and closed his eyes – if he couldn't see, he would have to feel his way out. That was the only logical answer in this situation, so Merlin spread his arms out blindly, surprised when he found nothing. From outside the maze walls had seemed narrow. Now he knew they were the width of his full arm-span and more.

He dropped his right arm and shuffled to his left until his fingers connected with rough stone – slimy, damp, rough stone. With a "Ugh!" Merlin retracted his arm and wiped his fingers on his shirt, trying to rid them of the unpleasant substance, whatever it was. He then frowned – it was hedge, surely, as he'd seen on the outside? Then again, he supposed that could have just been some devised plan of Morgana's to trick him into thinking it was a nice, non-threatening plant he was trapped in, not unforgiving, harsh cave walls. The temperature dropped suddenly, plucking a shudder out of Merlin.

Resignedly, he brought his hand back up to the rock barricades and began to walk, guiding himself by tracing over the bumps and cracks in the stone. Occasionally, some beetle or spider would crawl over his hand – at first he would hurriedly shake it off, but after the first few minutes he began to ignore it. He had far worse to worry about, of course.

How long had it been? How much longer of his time did he have? With that thought blaring in the mind, Merlin picked his feet up a little faster and evolved from his fast walk to a steady jog; he dared not try for a run lest he trip on the craggy floor.

He hadn't been going for longer than five minutes when he hit something hard and solid and _painful_. The impact sent him staggering backwards, and his heel caught on a particularly stubborn tree root on the ground. He fell onto his back, winded and probably bruised. Little jagged edges of pebbles and stones and rocks pressed against his back, and it was that that caused Merlin to clamber to his feet again. Advancing more cautiously this time, with his hands straight out in front of him, he met a surface that was similar to the cave walls – just as coarse and wet. _A dead end_. Merlin turned and found the wall again, stumbling back the way he had come.

Soon his hand ran out of wall, but as he kept advancing he recovered it again. _Two ways to turn,_ Merlin realised. He wondered how many more of those there were – maybe he had already gone through some, and just not realised it. It was hard to tell without his sight.

LINE BREAK

Merlin had lost track of time a long while ago. He was cold; his thin shirt was not protective against the temperature, and it had seeped through and was still lingering on his skin. If anything, the material seemed to trap it. The hand that was his primary tracer was covered in what Merlin assumed was water from the cave walls, and the cold air had settled on the moisture and claimed it as its new home.

He was sure it had been over an hour since he had entered the maze, so there was no point in hurrying anymore, but he was _freezing_ and he just wanted to get out. This place was chilling – not just in terms of temperature, either.

Merlin had just tripped round a sudden corner to his right when he heard a…sloshing, he supposed was the best word for it. The kind of sound that was produced when Arthur sat in his bath and the water was disturbed, jumping up and down the sides and leaping over the top of the tub in a bid for freedom.

He listened more attentively, stilling all of his body so he could hear the sound as best was possible. Yes, it was definitely there – faint, but there. Some kind of liquid in some sort of container.

Merlin took cautious steps forward – his limbs were so sodden and numb he wouldn't have been able to travel quickly, even if he'd desired so – and with each step, the sloshing got louder and louder, and as Merlin advanced he realised there was either a great deal of the liquid or it was tumbling around at quite a speed, judging by the increasing noise of waves crashing down on each other.

One step, two steps, three; right, left, right—then suddenly Merlin was plunged into icy, suffocating water – at least, it felt like water – and he couldn't breathe because he was under it and the weight of it pushing him down was immense, and he had to _breathe_ but he hadn't had time to draw in a breath before he'd plummeted into the…ditch?...and now his lungs were bursting, they needed air, but there was none and –

Merlin crashed through the surface like a particularly ungraceful dolphin and gasped like a dying man. Most of the gasps were more like choking coughs but he managed to purge himself of most of the water that he'd swallowed – he hoped to the high heavens it was water, because even though it was probably teeming with particles of dirt and little water bugs, at least he knew water wasn't poisonous.

It was a few moments after that that Merlin realised he was cold. Not just cold. He was sure if there was light, and a mirror, his lips would be a fetching shade of blue, and when he tried to move his fingers – nothing.

 _Oh dear._ With the added realisation that he couldn't feel his feet or half of his legs either, Merlin came to the decision that maybe he should move, instead of just bobbing with his natural buoyancy.

It was a struggle – the water seemed to be more viscous than usual, which probably meant that either Morgana had cast some kind of thickening spell on it, or it wasn't water – and combined with his weakened muscles and numbed limbs, he was probably not even possessive of enough strength to lift his arm so much as to break the surface.

Despite the nearly syrup-like consistency of the… whatever it was, it was relatively easy to move around in underwater – if it was water, of course. It flowed smoothly over his body, even if it was sub-zero.

That made the task slightly more manageable – he was able to do some sort of strange paddle with his sensation-less hands and a frog-style kick. Together they both managed to propel him along, just a little bit; and it was certainly faster than just floating about.

Every so often, he would inexplicably dip under the surface of the liquid, dragged down by unknown forces. But he would always resurface within a few seconds, spluttering and blinking rapidly to rid his eyes of the specks of dirt.

With each pull he sunk slightly deeper, and it took him slightly longer to propel himself back up. It was also rather unhelpful that he was never quite certain when he was going to be tugged down.

If one was to consider an equation for Merlin's situation, then it may have looked something like this:

Cold Merlin + Tired Merlin + Unknown force dragging Merlin down + Occasional intake of filthy water + General panic = Very bad situation.

On the whole, Merlin couldn't really bring himself to try and deduce the positives of his current predicament. As far as he could tell, there weren't any, so it didn't really matter either way, he supposed.

But after the tenth time (by Merlin's count, at least, but who was to say his brain was functioning correctly when he had ingested so many bacteria from the teaming water?) Merlin had been jerked under the surface, and was pulled down by (an estimate) of roughly 12 feet, it was fair to say that Merlin was a little fed up.

Read: hell of a lot pissed off.

So when he regained the ability to breathe once more, Merlin made the decision that would save his life or kill him.

He brought his arms up, breaking the surface entirely with a resonant splash, which was as hard as crashing through the solid shell of a sheet of ice about two or three inches thick. It clung to his shirtsleeves, and he was careful to not dip them back underneath too far, lest he couldn't lift them out again.

He didn't know whether it was the new speed or the newfound hope he had gained, but he was no longer being yanked down by the strange pull. This elicited a feeling of relief and euphoria, but also a new spark of fear. Merlin guessed it was just paranoia, but he couldn't shake the feeling that the thing controlling the pull was just waiting, waiting for him to become idle and assume that he was out of the woods, only to strike again. Merlin was determined not to let that happen – he was to remain completely alert at all times: his life depended on it, of that he was fairly certain.

His tactic seemed to work well; after a few more arduous minutes of what Merlin suspected was more akin to flailing than actual swimming, his flopping hands hit solid ground. He almost sobbed and shouted with relief – and that was his greatest mistake – his downfall.

He had relaxed, and let his guard down when he began to clamber out, using the natural buoyancy to push himself up, out of the liquid. He was no longer suspicious of any activity going on around him as his hands struggled to find a grip on the barren, rocky ground. He managed to clasp a few stones but they were loose and served no purpose. Just as he hauled himself out onto the ground, flopping ungracefully on his stomach, to numb to detect the jutting edges of the stones pushing into his flesh, something wrapped around his leg and gripped him tightly.

It was slimy, wet, and tentacular – what Merlin imagined to be some form of an octopus or squid was trying to tow him back into the pool.

In that moment, Merlin had two thoughts: the first was, _stupid, stupid,_ stupid _, you shouldn't have let your guard down!_ and the second was, _oh shit_.

Scrabbling for a hold on the bumpy maze floor, Merlin was jerked backwards. The sharp rocks cut into his skin and he felt the lesions split and bleed. Still, he uselessly searched for a grip among the uneven terrain, but his numb fingers failed to find anything to grasp. Helplessly, Merlin sunk back into the pool.

Merlin hadn't really begun to recover from the frigid temperature of the water – the one advantage he held. His body didn't have to suddenly adjust again. But that was one prop amongst many cons.

Merlin had no time to close his eyes or his mouth before he was plunged once more into the still pool, and his lungs caught on fire as the infected fluid seeped into his mouth and down his throat. On instinct, Merlin swallowed to rid his mouth of the taste and then gagged.

The tentacle didn't release, instead heaving him down insistently.

The light dimmed as he slipped further and further down. Merlin needed to breathe so badly, but he knew he couldn't.

 _Maybe if I just hold on for a little bit longer_ , Merlin thought desperately, _just a little bit longer_.

His vision tunnelled and against his will, he inhaled. His lungs scorched with searing agony and blotches of black like splattered ink appeared.

As the tentacle continued to tow him down, Merlin was overcome by a sensation of drowsiness.

And then…nothing.

LINE BREAK

When Merlin came to again, he was…warm. Well, mildly so – but compared to the glacial temperature of before in the maze, this was a paradise.

Also, he was wearing fresh garments of clothing, and he could feel the moderately tight restraints of bandages secured around his torso.

The surface beneath him was smooth, and neither hard nor soft. It felt like the plank of wood used for a bed in a prison cell.

Merlin's heart sank. He thought maybe he'd been rescued and was back in Camelot, being treated by Gaius. No such luck, apparently.

"Well, look who's finally awake," an unpleasantly familiar voice drawled.

Merlin turned his head to the right. Morgana, hands clasped around the bars – his suspicions were right, he was back in the prison cell – was glaring at him. Once she twigged that his attention was focused on her, she smirked and continued:

"My little pet took good care of you in there." _Pet? Does she seriously consider that_ thing _a pet?_ "We got you out just as you were about to die." Her eyes glinted. "You're no use to us dead, after all. You can't talk then." Her voice took on a hard edge. "Don't worry. This was me just getting started. Expect far worse."

She stepped away from the bars. Merlin let his head loll back and his eyes slipped closed as Morgana marched away.

"You will talk, Merlin!" Morgana called back. "I know you will."

For now, however, Merlin was content with the situation. He wasn't being tortured, at least.

 


	7. Chapter 7

_Emrys has been stolen._

The Elder's head snapped up and he frowned at the small boy in front of him. _Who has stolen him, Brennus?_

The boy's face was composed and devoid of any emotion; his telepathic voice was much the same. _Morgana._

 _How are you possessed of this knowledge, Brennus?_ The Elder raised his eyebrow.

 _His friends approach – the Once and Future King, who will bring about this Golden Age, and his fellow knights._ Brennus showed his first hint of emotion since the start of their conversation, his eyes glowing at the thought of Albion.

_Are they aware that you have read their thoughts?_

Brennus snorted derisively, and then resumed to be audible only in his mind, _Of course not. They are ignorant to matters of magic._ Brennus whipped his head to the side. _They are close. It will be less than a minute before their arrival. I suggest we flee._

The Elder held up his palm in a peaceful, calming gesture. _If they are looking for Emrys, it is likely they will not attack. We will be patient, young one._

Brennus's eyes flashed. The boy had a hot temper and did not like being overruled, even by the much-respected Elder. _Very well,_ he finally agreed, _but I am retreating to my tent._

The Elder watched him march back to his tent with a sigh. He knew the man's father well; indeed, he was one of the most intelligent and skilled druids he knew; but that came with the cost of an extremely short temper and a desire to rush into things with no real thought for the consequences. It looked as if they boy was heading the same way.

The Elder had no more time to ponder on the matter, for as Brennus had predicted, a group of fix or six horses rode into the proximity of the camp. "Arthur Pendragon!" he called, standing with all the grace he could muster with his creaking joints, instantly recognizing the face of the King of Camelot.

Arthur looked surprised to be noticed, but dismounted and moved forward to the edge of the camp. "How do you know my name?" he asked curiously, as his knights followed his example and also advanced towards the camp.

"I know a great many things, but your name is known by everyone; it is by no skill that I recognize you." The Elder inclined his head in respect, and was mildly surprised when the King did the same.

"What else do you have knowledge of?" said Arthur, glancing around at the druid camp that he stood in.

"I know that these are your fellow knights who are your most trusted, most noble, and most brave of all those you have command over: Sirs Gwaine, Percival, Elyan and Leon." The knights looked shocked and flattered to be addressed in such a matter. The Elder continued, "I am also aware, due to the skills of a young boy within this camp, that you are searching for your friend."

Arthur regarded the Elder warily. "How did you know about Merlin?"

The Elder smiled slightly, "I told you; I know a great many things." He moved back two steps, and gestured for the knights to enter the camp. "Please, come and rest. You must have travelled for many days. I will ensure your horses are tended to as we speak."

The knights looked dubious of the offer, but were quick to follow Arthur when he accepted the offer with a small sentence of his thanks. The Elder led the five to a clearing in the middle of the camp, reaching out to Genovefa. _Would you please tend to our guests' horses while they rest and speak with me? They are at the edge of the camp._

 _Of course, Elder_.

Just as the small group approached the middle of the camp, a young woman, by Arthur's estimation just starting to step into her twenties, ducked out of a cloth tent and headed towards the six. "What form of care do the horses need, Elder?" she asked politely, curtsying when she saw the knights behind him. They bowed their heads in return.

"Some food, I think, but not too much; and some water."

"Thank you, Elder." The woman scurried off to the river that ran alongside the camp, collecting a bucket along the way.

The Elder sat down on a small log and invited the others to sit in a semi-circle around him. They lowered themselves onto the oaken benches and extended their thanks for his kindness.

"There is no need," the Elder protested, waving away their thanks, "I am glad to be of assistance to you."

Arthur started, "The woman back there – she called you Elder?"

The Elder chuckled. "Just a formality. The young ones call me by that name to show their respect, and likewise everyone does in front of visitors, such as yourselves. Please call me Morchant."

Arthur swallowed. "Morchant, we are grateful for your offer of help, and gladly accept. Please tell us if we can do something in return for your selflessness."

Again, Morchant shook his head. "Nothing is needed. I wish only to inform you of what I know." Morchant leaned forwards, suddenly much more serious than before, the small grin he had upon his face dropping off. "I know the approximate whereabouts of your manservant and friend, Merlin. He is being held by Morgana, but she has many, many residences."

"So he could be almost anywhere?" Arthur asked, his hand rubbing the back of his neck.

Morchant's eyes flickered to the man sitting on the end of the row. "That is true," he spoke eventually, after evaluating the man. "However, we are in contact with many other druids scattered among the country, and we all report to the leaders of each camp whenever there is a sighting of Morgana."

He pause before he spoke again, a great gravity underlining his words, "We believe she is trying to force information from Merlin in a desolate area. She is far away, for Morgana is lucky, and possesses the natural gift of teleportation, which is a hard task to most magic wielders." Morchant watched Arthur closely when he mentioned magic, and was pleased when Arthur did not even flinch, but continued staring at Morchant with an expression of great worry on his face.

"We cannot tell you an exact location, but I know where you can find someone who will be able to help you. It could take a week to reach her, however…" Morchant trailed off, his lined face furling in concentration. "Depending on your steeds, it could take you any number of days, but most likely less than a week, unless an accident befalls you. There is a lake, due north of this camp, and there you will discover more directions."

"If I may," Arthur said slowly, "do you know what information Morgana wants, and by what means of extraction she is using?"

The knights suddenly tensed, with the realisation of the impact of Arthur's words. They had been too caught up in the flurry of excitement to pay much heed to what the Elder said.

Morchant sighed heavily, clasping his hands together. "We believe she may be planning to invade Camelot once more, and she may have kidnapped Merlin to question him upon Camelot's defences and soldiers."

"Why not kidnap one of us?" Elyan interrupted. "We have far greater knowledge of weapons and the like than Merlin."

"Merlin knows more about weapons and war than any of you believe; he is a creature of intelligent mind and soul," Morchant said rather harshly. "It is my belief that she stole Merlin as he would cause a far lesser cry of outrage than if she was to take the King, or a Knight of the Round Table." Morchant regarded them all with his heavy-lidded eyes. "It is also more likely that he will break under her force, as he has not been subjected to as much training as knights."

"I'm assuming that by force you mean physical?" Arthur questioned.

Morchant raised his shoulders in a sign of defeat. "I am not entirely sure of that," he admitted. "That is most likely…although there is also the possibility of emotional trauma; that is sometimes an easier way to break a person's soul."

A young druid girl came towards the group. "Elder," she said respectfully, and waited for her greeting.

"Oanez," Morchant answered, "please tell us what you came to say."

"I was wondering whether the visitors wished for some water and food while they rest here," Oanez said, gesturing behind her to where two other girls stood, with trays of food and water.

Morchant turned to his guests, and arched his eyebrow. There was a unanimous nodding among the knights and the two other girls approached with their trays, offering them to each of the knights in turn, who gladly accepted the fruit and water.

"Thank you, Luigsech, Loeiza," Morchant said with a smile.

The three girls replied in unison, "Thank you, Elder," and skipped off.

Morchant sat patiently as the knights ate hungrily, and drank quickly. They had nearly run out of food and had been rationing, nibbling on a piece of stale bread throughout the day, nearly collapsing from hunger. The fresh fruit was a luxury.

"Thank you, Morchant, and to your people," Arthur said finally, when all had finished. "We should be on our way if we wish to recover Merlin." He stood to leave, and shook Morchant's hand gratefully.

"I wish you luck, Arthur Pendragon, and to Sirs Gwaine, Elyan, Leon and Percival. Let me accompany you to your horses."

The knights followed the Elder as he strode through the camp, his robes covering his feet, giving him the appearance of almost floating on the earth.

Now there were two men standing by their horses, fixing their saddlebags back onto the horses. "Elder," they greeted simultaneously.

"Teutorigos, Vercingetorix," Morchant replied.

"We have filled the saddlebags with fresh food, seeing as they were almost empty, and the little food left within was rotting," one of them said.

"Our greatest thanks," Arthur said graciously, bowing his head. They both returned the gesture and made their leave.

The five mounted their horses and settled themselves in the saddle, preparing to turn and leave.

"Do not forget my words," Morchant reminded. "Due north until you come across a forest, and then a lake. Go straight through and then you will meet rocky caves. There will be a desert and mountains. Along the way, there should be a helping hand every now and then. That is where we believe Merlin is captured."

Arthur memorized the words, his quick mind processing the words as he pushed his horse into a gallop, the other knights copying his example.

LINE BREAK

"Merlin, Merlin, Merlin," Morgana pouted, a long leather whip in her hands. She let the tip trail down Merlin's back, enjoying his wince as it bumped over deep gashes recently created. "If you'd just answer, everything would be a lot simpler."

"I'll never talk to you," Merlin ground out against the pain, determined to not let the stinging along his back overpower him.

"You will, soon enough," Morgana said nonchalantly. "I'll ask you again: how many soldiers does Camelot currently have?"

There was only silence from the young, half-naked man in front of her. She moved round to see his face, and forced his head up, the chains that held him up jingling. "Answer me," she hissed.

"Never," Merlin choked. Morgana dropped his chin and took a step back, regarding the annoyingly resistant man in front of her.

He was standing on his toes to avoid suffocation; if he lowered himself at all, a manacle around his neck would become taut and strangle him. His arms were held above his head by another manacle which encompassed both of his wrists, and was attached to the ceiling with a short chain that was yanking his arms up painfully.

Morgana drew the whip back, "Last chance."

There was no reply from Merlin and Morgana's face morphed into a scowl. She flicked her wrist skilfully and the whip cut into Merlin's back, splitting the skin as Merlin howled in pain. Blood trickled down his back and added to the stain at the hem of his trousers.

"How many soldiers does Camelot have?" Morgana yelled, over Merlin's cries of suffering.

Merlin's shouts died down to whimpers as he shook, the chains rattling irregularly.

"We'll try again," Morgana said clearly, running her hand down the whip to cleanse it of as much blood as she could – she had discovered that the deft flicking motion required to use the whip effectively had the unfortunate side effects of splattering whatever remained on it over the user of the whip.

"What is Camelot's defence plan?" Morgana tried, wiping her bloody hand on her dress, disregarding the stain.

"Elephants," Merlin said mockingly, even through his pain feeling the need to ridicule Morgana in any way possible.

"I don't take kindly to being mocked, Merlin," Morgana almost screeched. Her anger was getting the better of her and she lashed out again with the whip, once, then two more times.

Merlin's shrieks of anguish calmed her considerably and she dropped the whip on the floor, realising nothing would make Merlin talk. She moved closer to Merlin, admiring the pattern of gashes on his back, and touched them gently, appreciating the hiss of pain it elicited from him.

"I'll come back tomorrow," Morgana whispered in his ear, running her thumb along a split in Merlin's back. "You can stay like this tonight, and I'll see if you're willing to speak tomorrow morning."

She exited the cell and locked it shut behind her, slipping the key down the top of her dress. "Bye, Merlin, sleep well," she smirked.

 


	8. Chapter 8

"Bloody hell," Gwaine complained, hacking at the dense curtain of vines with his sword. "Isn't there another way around?" he called to Arthur, who was slashing through the abundant layer of ferns on the ground.

"If you want to add another three days to our journey," Arthur panted heavily, pausing for a moment to clean his brow of sweat. "The forest isn't too great, if we carry on going straight it should take only half a day at most."

Gwaine stared at his king, disbelief morphing his features. "With this shrubbery?" he asked. "It's taken us half a day to penetrate the opening!"

"Just keep going, Gwaine," Arthur ground out through gritted teeth, irritation threatening to overcome his sense. He knew Gwaine was unhappy with the situation and anxious about Merlin, but so was he – and he had to try and encourage them to get there as well.

Gwaine huffed in annoyance and Arthur prayed that he wasn't going to answer back smartly like he usually did. Out of the corner of his eye, the king spied Percival elbowing him harshly in the ribs. Arthur felt a sudden rush of gratitude towards the large, graceful knight for handling Gwaine well – he was starting to lose the control he once had over what was happening.

LINE BREAK

Merlin was already conscious when Morgana came down to fetch him. Her ridiculous heeled boots – so impractical for everyday life, Merlin had always thought – were the first indication of her approach. The clicks they created when they hit the stone stairs echoed and bounced towards him. Her dress rustled as it trailed behind her, the sound ghostly and unreal.

"Good morning," Merlin said, not bothering to turn over. He was currently lying on the damp floor of his cell. His right side was numb from the freezing stone, but his back was burning red hot from the healing gashes of the whip.

"Nice to see you haven't lost your manners," Morgana laughed, and what was once a pleasant sound that Merlin loved to listen to was now derived and harsh, rough against her throat.

"Nice to see you have," Merlin countered, knowing that he was treading into dangerous territory.

Sure enough, Morgana's voice turned from falsely innocent to a snarl. "I lost my manners when you poisoned me, Merlin." He couldn't see her but he knew her well enough to know what she was doing.

Her casual pacing, although they had some form of purpose to them, transformed into fast, tight strides as she stalked towards the cell door. There was the harsh scraping of metal on metal as she shoved the key into the lock and yanked the door open, pressing her heel against his bare back, right into one of the slashes she had caused yesterday.

Merlin yelped in pain but then squeezed his mouth shut, biting his lip to prevent any more noise escaping. He felt blood ooze from the wound again and trickle down his horizontal back, causing an uncomfortable stickiness when it pooled against the floor.

"Get up," she ordered, jerking her heel back out of his wound. Merlin moved his arms stiffly to attempt to stand, wincing when every muscle in his body protested at the movement. He managed to make his way to his knees, breaths escaping his nostrils in short, irregular pants before Morgana grew impatient.

She hauled him to his feet by his hair and shoved him forward. Merlin nearly tripped from the sudden pain and light-headedness he felt and steadied himself against the cell door, his hands wrapping around the cold steel bars.

There was a sheering pain along his back as Morgana pushed him forward again, her hand unforgiving against the slashes in his skin. "Outside," she instructed.

Warily, Merlin shuffled towards the door at the end of the corridor. His back was pulsating and overheating, and it made his movements stiff and slow. Morgana easily overtook him and grabbed his wrist, dragging him along, ignoring his cries and whimpers of pain.

She rammed the wooden door open when they reached it, revealing a sparse square of ground. Merlin was shoved outside and shouted out in agony when the hard, fast rain hit his back. He glanced around wearily, blinking raindrops from his eyes. It was a small square-like courtyard, penned in by steep stone walls. There was barely enough room for more than six people.

In the middle of it stood a stumpy, uneven post of mahogany. Merlin eyed it cautiously; he suspected he knew where this was going. Sure enough, Morgana was soon beside him, her nails digging into his wrist painfully. The rain seemed to bounce off her, Merlin noticed: she had cast some kind of spell to make her water-resistant.

Merlin was forced to his knees in front of the post, and from nowhere Morgana produced a long, roughly-woven rope and bound his wrists together tightly. His hands began to throb as the blood was cut off between his wrists and palms. Merlin gritted his teeth as Morgana circled the rope around the post before slipping the end underneath the loops she had made and tying it neatly and securely.

"Ready to have some fun, Merlin?" Morgana hissed, her warm palm stroking down his mangled back, eliciting a groan of agony from Merlin as she rubbed in the rainwater. "I'm ready," Morgana continued, "I can't wait to see you squirming in agony again."

"Get on with it, Morgana," Merlin ground out between short bursts of breathing. "I don't care about your whip."

Morgana laughed. "I'm not whipping you, Merlin. I've already done that. I have something quick different in mind."

Merlin tensed. A whipping he could deal with; whatever Morgana had planned, he may not be able to. "What are you planning, then?"

Morgana laughed. "You'll find out in just a few minutes." Judging by the sound of her footsteps, she had disappeared back inside, leaving Merlin outside in the biting wind and chilling rain.

LINE BREAK

"We're out," Arthur breathed, relief flooding his body. It had taken them, as he had previously predicted, half a day to struggle through the short although dense forest.

Gwaine whooped, following Arthur out and nearly tripping over a large, jagged stone that lay in his path. "Where now?" he asked, still panting. The ground around them bore no particular landmarks, nothing to help them choose a way to go.

Arthur glanced towards the sky. "Night will fall in less than an hour," he pointed out as Percival, Elyan and Leon crashed out of the forest behind him. "I suggest we set up camp and rise early tomorrow morning."

"Sounds like a plan, sire," Leon agreed, a little out of breath. Arthur glanced behind him, relieved to see that his knights were okay. Elyan and Leon had been charged with the task of leading the horses once the paths ahead had been cleared; after a quick look over Arthur could see no problems with their mounts.

Gwaine sighed, frustrated that they could not carry on, but following Arthur's instructions. He began to gather dry wood that was littered around.

LINE BREAK

Morgana arrived back outside, still protected by her waterproof cloak she had cast over herself. "You probably won't have heard of this," she said to Merlin. "It's a device called an _emorragh_." She crouched down in front of Merlin so he could see the device. It was a light green in colour, oblong in shape. It was roughly the size of the average dagger and thin. One edge was jagged, with long teeth-like spikes protruding from it.

"The Old Religion made extensive use of when they wished to extract information from enemies. You see the teeth here?" Morgana waved her hand around the spikes. "They each have a different name and when you summon one, they all have a different…power." She smirked, touching the teeth lightly. "Some have the power to burn, some can create a deep gash just from lightly touching the skin, some can inflict great pain without leaving a mark."

Morgana rose and circled Merlin predatorily. "I wonder which I should use first," she mused, eying her prey with hunger. " _Gorfen_."

One of the teeth glowed blue and the others snapped back into the _emorragh_ , leaving one prominent. Morgana touched it to her skin lightly, wincing when it shot a deep, intense pain up through her arm. She lifted it back almost immediately, and the pain vanished with it.

Merlin gritted his teeth. He had heard Morgana's sharp intake of breath when she had tested the device, and he was certain that she would use it far more extensively on him. He closed his eyes and waited for the pain to befall him.

Morgana started off by tracing the device along his left shoulder smoothly, grinning when Merlin jerked and shuddered, yelping in agony. She pressed down a little harder, her smile widening when Merlin started to tug at his bindings, and moaning in pain.

She moved across to his other shoulder, increasing the pressure further until Merlin was thrashing to escape his bindings, full blown screams falling from his lips. Morgana could only imagine the agony that he was in – and she enjoyed doing so.

A new idea struck her when she saw that Merlin's wounds had begun to bleed again from his wild movements. Morgana lifted her _emorragh_ away, waiting for his shouts to subside to sobs. "Don't cry so, Merlin dear," she cooed in mock-sympathy. "It's only going to get worse."

Morgana angled her hand so that the _emorragh_ was tilted towards the inside of one of the cuts the whip had left, and touched the spike onto the sensitive skin, appreciating Merlin's shrieks of agony. She loved hearing him scream in pain, pressing down harder to double the pain he was feeling.

"Feel free to tell me anything you know about Camelot's defences, Merlin," Morgana reminded him, running the spike back and forth.

"Never," Merlin managed between his yells of agony, jerking back and forth, straining against the rope. Morgana sighed – this obviously wasn't working. She summoned the spike away, considering which one she should use next.

" _Dietyn_ ," she snapped. A spike slid out, glowing a deep purple. Morgana smiled – she liked this one. She wondered where it would have the best effect – somewhere she didn't want to go, most probably, but a close second would be his wrists – or more specifically, the veins.

Twisting his wrists over so they were facing upwards, Morgana touched the spike experimentally over one clear vein: with the tight binding, they were all prominent in his arms. His wrist began to bleed immediately, the red, viscous liquid spurting out gracefully. Morgana grinned and pressed the spike to the others excitedly, moving to the other wrist when she was satisfied she had done enough. Merlin was screaming again, the pain of his veins bursting too much for him to handle. He soon passed out, from a combination of the agony and blood loss.

Morgana sighed. She hadn't meant for him to lose consciousness – she had only hoped to traumatize him so much that he would reveal what she wanted to know. "Pathetic," she muttered, watching the blood be watered down with the rain and discolour the ground.

Morgana headed back inside, setting the _emorragh_ down on a table that was just beside the door and glancing out at Merlin. His veins were starting to close up – the beauty of _dietyn_ was that it would never let enough blood leak to kill the person involved, but obviously she had pushed Merlin too far this time. The rain would help him to regain his consciousness, perhaps. Morgana sighed and strode back towards the stairs. She would come back in a few hours, when night had fallen, and drag him back inside. He would be freezing, his semi-naked body sodden. Morgana smiled, a plan already formulating in her mind as she strode back towards her room.

 


	9. Chapter 9

Merlin awoke back in his cell, his whole body aching and dripping wet for some reason. He was freezing, and moving any of his joints was painful. He whimpered as he tried to sit up, but then fell back down again.

"Aw, poor little Merlin," Morgana simpered with mock sympathy. She approached quickly, wearing a red dress that he hadn't seen before. It suited her well, he noticed, but usually her dresses were black or deep green.

"What's the special occasion?" Merlin grunted through his pain.

"I've been gifted this by an old friend," Morgana smirked. "I thought I'd wear it to show my gratitude." She twirled like a she was a young girl again.

Merlin couldn't help noticing that it was exactly the same shade of blood, and wondered whether she didn't want to stain any of her other dresses. She was holding the _emorragh_ once more, and one of the spikes was already prominent.

"I've been saving this one," Morgana grinned. "It's very special, this one. You think of a question and press it to the victim's head; then the answer appears, in burning letters on their back."

Merlin groaned internally: he had been managing to conceal the answers throughout this torture but now it wouldn't matter, they were to be forced from him anyway.

"Unfortunately, it can only answer the questions that the person has answered before," Morgana sighed. Merlin's heart leapt. He had never been questioned on Camelot's defences before. "But I can cause a great deal of pain and find out a lot, still."

Merlin's heart sank again.

LINE BREAK

The day had dawned clear and bright, a cold sun rising quickly in the sky. It was a good day for riding, with no mist and a light breeze to keep the horses and men cool.

They had risen at dawn, just as the sun was breaking over the horizon, and while the horses drank and ate, they did the same. They were off as soon as was possible, eager to use as much of the day as possible.

As they rode, the knights talked amongst themselves. Sometimes they talked of the path they were taking, or they teased each other light-heartedly, but soon the conversation swung around to Merlin, as it inevitably did on this quest.

Rather than lamenting the servant boy, who was a great friend to them all, Arthur quickly made sure that their conversations were full of anecdotes about the strange man.

Percival, usually quiet and more of a receiver than a giver, was currently contributing to their conversation heartily. "So, me and Gwaine were hiding in the alcove, and let me tell you, that alcove was only meant for one-"the knights guffawed – "and Merlin was casually leaning against it, with his coat spread out to cover us, as he was talking to Mary."

"Mary, the head cook?" Arthur asked, thoroughly amused by this tale. He realised that he only knew about half of what happened in Merlin's life, and resolved to spend more time getting to know Merlin when they found him.

Percival nodded. "Yes, that Mary, and she was questioning him about the missing pies. Well, me and Gwaine were holding one each and Gwaine had part of one stuffed into his mouth. Merlin was trying to persuade her that she must have miscounted, when Gwaine dropped his pie.

"Well, Mary saw it splatter on the floor and thought Merlin had stuffed it up his top or something, and it had fallen out. She started scolding him and me and Gwaine were trying not to laugh, when Gwaine choked on his pie.

"Mary pushed Merlin out of the way, and she found us. There was a moment when none of us moved, and then Merlin ran down the corridor, I ran after him, and Gwaine tried to run in the opposite direction, but skidded on the broken pie and fell over.

"Me and Merlin didn't know this and kept running. We escaped to the courtyard, and then wondered where Gwaine was. We searched around for him but couldn't find him anywhere. So, later on, Merlin comes bursting into my chambers and tells me I've got to go down to the lower town."

"I think you can stop there, actually," Gwaine interrupted, turning scarlet.

"No, carry on," Arthur said curiously.

Percival grinned. "I went with him, and lo and behold, in the stocks, being pelted with pies…is Gwaine."

The others roared with laughter while Gwaine hid his face in shame. "And then me and Merlin joined in!" Percival finished. "And Merlin has a surprisingly good aim!"

"It took me weeks to get all of the apple out of my ear," Gwaine grumbled.

LINE BREAK

Merlin was yanked up by Morgana, and she positioned him into a kneeling position. He was dry now but still felt as though he was frozen, and his muscles screamed in protest at every moment.

Morgana crouched down in front of him, the _emorragh_ flashing the small beam of light that came through the miniscule hole in the cell's wall. "I will break you," she muttered. "I will."

"Have fun," Merlin replied, certain that she wouldn't learn any information from him.

Morgana glowered, her eyebrows furrowing together. She straightened up in a flash and stalked over to the cell door, retrieving the _emorragh_ from outside.

Morgana muttered something to the device and it glowed gold, emitting a bright blue light. Merlin wondered how it worked; he was rewarded with an answer a few seconds later.

The spike was pressed gently to his temple, and he heard Morgana's voice in his head as clear as if she'd spoken aloud. _What's your name?_ Then there was an odd feeling: like his head had swollen, and then something, like a small ball, travelled through his brain and down his neck.

Then there was searing pain in his back, as if he was being scorched or branded. He cried out, the scalding agony too much for him to cope with, and he felt it travel along his back, spreading out slightly in elegant curving strands of fire.

"Very good," Morgana praised the _emorragh_. Merlin couldn't see, but on his back, in angry, red letters, was "MERLIN", as if he had been branded with a white-hot iron.

She loved this torture; it could be both physically and emotionally exhausting. She knew what questions to ask now, which questions would tire Merlin's mind as well as cause him excruciating agony.

She hadn't taken the spike from his head and asked another question. _Who do you love the most?_

 _No,_ Merlin thought desperately, _no, you can't have that, you can't have that_.

There was nothing he could do to stop it though: he felt the idea being dragged through his head and down his neck, and when he concentrated the best he could through the burning pain, he could shape the letters being formed: F-R-E-Y-A.

"Freya?" Morgana asked, an evil undertone to her voice. "Who's Freya, then?"

Merlin breathed out shakily, a combination of the pain and the memories. The fire was sinking back into his back and slowly fading away. His back was throbbing from what he guessed was probably the remnants of the 'letters' as Morgana had explained earlier.

LINE BREAK

Gwaine swore loudly. Arthur didn't bother to tell him off: he felt like swearing too, but he was the king, and that would be undignified.

"We'll have to swim," Leon pointed out, dismounting.

Ahead of them was a fairly large lake: the other end of it was visible so it wouldn't be too far, but Arthur was wary of lakes. They could look fine but be incredibly deceiving.

"I suppose," Arthur agreed, dismounting as well. "We'll have to lead the horses as we go."

"Can horses swim?" Elyan asked. Unlike the rest of them, he hadn't had the chance to spend a lot of time around horses.

Percival answered him. "They're natural swimmers, they'll be fine, we'll just have to steer them in the right direction."

Arthur was the first to plunge into the water. He shivered. It was cold and dense, and his horse seemed quite reluctant to go in too. He had learnt from a young age to do the things that were unpleasant as well as the things that weren't if they were necessary, so he headed on.

The splashing behind him confirmed the entry of the other knights, and with a few indignant whinnies, they were soon halfway across the lake.

The water had started out only being up to their waists, but now it was nearly at their necks. Suddenly the ground slipped away and Arthur nearly slipped under the water. His stallion started, but still had his hind legs on the lake's sandy bed. "Careful!" Arthur shouted back. "The bed gives out suddenly."

The knights shouted words of gratitude from behind, and Arthur looped the reins around his elbow so he could swim. He swam as quickly as he could with his armour on and whilst leading a stallion, thanking his childhood tutor for insisting he learnt to swim well.

LINE BREAK

Morgana put the _emorragh_ down outside the cell carefully. It had served her well and Merlin was in considerable distress: the simple reason for it failing to get Merlin to the state she wanted was that she ran out of questions. She had questioned him about his family and friends he had lost, but the wounds he had gained from their losses had long since healed over.

Nevertheless, Morgana was sure that he was near his breaking point. The letters on his back had scarred now, still faintly visible, all of them criss-crossing with each other, but still angry and painful when touched: Morgana knew that from past experience of using the _emorragh_.

The whip was still curled up and waiting outside Merlin's cell door. It wasn't her favourite form of torture, due to the mess and blood, but it was incredibly effective, and with her magic she could snap her fingers and close up the wounds, and clear up any gore.

Morgana picked it up and headed back into the cell, summoning ropes to circle around Merlin's waist and pull his arms to the side, securing him in place. His back was still red and raw, and the outlines of the letters still clear.

Morgana had learnt to handle a whip at seven, determined to outshine Arthur in any way she could even then, and now she was much better than any other woman or man in the land. Her aim was fantastic and she knew just how to flick her wrist to put all of her force behind the hit.

Her first strike resulted in a deep laceration across her back, blood trickling from the cut instantly, and a howl of pain from Merlin. She had struck straight across the letters that had been burnt into his back, and her second landed just slightly above the first, and the third slightly below, all three hitting the scorched words.

Morgana wasn't a big fan of gore, but there was something about the cut of a whip that she liked, the way it sliced skin apart so neatly. She was tired today though; using the _emorragh_ actually devoured much of one's energy, and she could only managed another eight or nine lashes before she felt light-headed. She would have to end for today, and admired the mess on Merlin's back, and the way he was still whimpering and moaning, his body jerking in pain, as she cleared the whip of blood.

He could stay like that tonight, Morgana decided. Maybe by the time she came down the next morning, he would have been broken by the pain and discomfort.

LINE BREAK

The knights were all sopping wet, but the night air was warm, and if it stayed that way, they would be dry by the next morning. The horses had dried remarkably quickly, and they were settling down for the night, preparing for an early start the next morning.

LINE BREAK

Morgana flopped onto her bed. She never bothered to change into nightclothes or brush out her hair like she used to in Camelot. She preferred it this way: it was peaceful and private. She fingered the dagger that always lay next to her on the table and smiled. Tomorrow, she would use it.


	10. Chapter 10

Morgana awoke with a start. She lay in bed for a few seconds, caked in sweat, her nightdress sticking to her body uncomfortably and the covers twisted around her legs. She longed for something to relieve her nightmares – the bracelet that Morgause had gifted her was long gone, and Gaius's tonics were clearly out of the question. They were driving her insane, she knew they were; sometimes during the day, she could hear footsteps from all around her, but there was nobody there, and sometimes at night she could hear cruel laughter and taunts thrown her way. It was only barely light outside: dawn could only have just broken.

She stripped the covers from her leg, tossing them aside, and dropped from the high four poster bed to the stone floor. The chill of the tiles grounded her, so she breathed in, told herself she was being ridiculous, and breathed out. She was now in the habit of keeping a bucket of fresh, icy water in her room for occasions like this.

Stripping her nightgown off over her head, Morgana moved to the corner of the room and grabbed the bucket. In one fluid movement, with no hesitation, she tipped the bucket over her head, letting the liquid wash away her sweat, and chill her right down to the bones. It only took a quick mutter to clear up the water and dry herself, and she felt a lot better from the shock of the temperature.

Sighing at what she had become, she dressed herself and combed back her hair into something that wouldn't be constantly flopping into her eyes. She was very much in control of herself, but there was something inside her mind that she was very much not in control of. She looked insane, she knew that, but she had power, so who cared? More importantly, she had Merlin, and she was absolutely certain that Merlin knew more than he was letting on.

In all of the time she had known Merlin, he had been secretive, surprising her with odd titbits of knowledge here and there, or peculiar actions…he had to know who Emrys was. When he had taken her to the druids, she had spoken of Merlin and they had exchanged glances amongst themselves in the mysterious way that was so natural to them. Merlin must know them well to have elicited that reaction, and so in turn he had to know who Emrys was.

She would find out: she may have cracked, may be insane, may be the ex-ward of Camelot, who, so beloved by Uther, turned against him, killed him, and tried to take the throne, but she was determined. She was resourceful, she was indomitable, she was strong. She was not sand, she was bedrock.

With that in mind, the mantra she repeated every morning until she was strong enough to face the day in front of her, Morgana refilled the bucket of water with a flick of her wrist, and yanked the door open, feeling the fresh air wash over her face. _Not sand. Bedrock._

Morgana was down by Merlin's cell in mere seconds, her journey from her chambers to his prison short and snappy. She had ensured it was that way to avoid long commuting after a strenuous day of questioning. Sometimes at night, his whimpers drifted up to her and comforted her in her sleeplessness. It made her feel better, the knowledge that others had it worse.

Morgana stepped up to the cell bars and wrapped her hands around the filthy columns of steel, not caring about the dirt that coated her palms within milliseconds. Usually she was loud, caused a racket when she visited her prisoner, but today she did not want him to be alerted of her presence. Her eyes flickered over his sleeping form with a predatory hunger: she longed to see blood trickling down his back. The old, fading scars of letters that had been burnt into his skin yesterday were beautiful to Morgana, and she leant her forehead against the bars of the cell.

She would break him, physically first, and then emotionally. She didn't care how long it took, but she would break him. Break his flesh, then his bones, then his mind, then his neck. She would break him.

With a sudden viciousness, she broke away from the cell door, only far enough so she wasn't pressed against the bars anymore, and kicked the metal with a reverberating clang. She snarled as she saw Merlin rise quickly, glancing behind himself warily, and then the way his face fell as he saw Morgana. She supposed he had been dreaming that he was back home, safe and warm in Camelot. She bared her teeth and laughed internally when he flinched back. _Pathetic_.

She resisted the urge to slaughter him then and there, cut his throat like a pig, watch the thick, crimson life bleed out of him onto her dress, hear the way his breath caught as he drowned in his own plasma, feel the rise and depression of his chest gradually slow and then finally, with a stubborn stuttering, stop.

His cell door was locked, for obvious reasons, but Morgana needed no key. She controlled things with thoughts in her head, and it felt good. She had control, she had power. She was drenched in the delicious bitterness of supremacy. The door swung open with the golden ignition of her irises and she bound Merlin to her with invisible ropes, taut and vicious, so that he would follow or be dragged. She had power over him.

Her questioning yesterday had granted her an insight to Merlin's most personal ponderings and experiences, the worst times that he had ever endured. She had power over him with that information, and she was going to use it. She was going to manipulate him with her _emorragh_ , which had so far been such a loyal device, such a delightful thing; it wasn't its fault that Merlin was as stubborn as her half-brother.

The mere thought of Arthur, the damn King of damn Camelot, brought an unpleasant downturn to her mouth, an ugly curl to her lip. She deserved that throne, more than Arthur did – she was older and gender be damned. She turned abruptly and marched smartly along the corridor, her heels generating a smooth clopping noise, not unlike that of a horse cantering gracefully.

Merlin stumbled after her, as gangly and ungainly as a new-born colt, the transparent ropes that shackled his wrists together like an insistent lead. Morgana had purposely kept him shirtless – not for personal pleasure, naturally – but for his own discomfort: he would be chilled through to his bones, infection could set into the lashes of the whips she had dealt him…Morgana shivered with pleasure at the thought as she strolled into the crumbling Great Hall, which was stinking of mould and mildew and rotting from the inside out.

_I will break you._

LINE BREAK

Night had fallen like an ebony cloak, discarded from someone's shoulders and tossed to the floor. Nevertheless, Arthur had pressed his stallion on, digging his heels into his stomach, and as the light slowly seeped from the sky, Arthur's sharp eyes adjusted to the ever-growing inky pitch around him.

He had slowed his mount to a gentle walk now; the floor had become covered in vines and stumps of trees, and Arthur was afraid that if he rode at a faster pace there would be a great amount of stumbling, resulting in both his and his stallion's death.

His faithful knights had been following him in silence ever since dusk had invaded the sky, but he could feel the knights' eyes burning into the back of his head, not with anger or regret, but for direction. He hoped that he was not leading them in the wrong direction, but he could scarcely see in front of his face; he was relying on the mount's acute eyesight to lead them out of this clustered forest.

The only sound was the infrequent hoot of an owl, the flapping of their wings, the squeal of a mouse or rabbit as they were snagged with their deadly talons, and the constant crunching of leaves under the horses' hooves as they diligently carried the knights. The occasional thwack of a low-hanging bough and whomever it hit's grumble of pain shortly afterwards was the only speech from the knights.

Arthur's horse started abruptly, rearing up just a little and stepping backwards. The collision this caused earned Arthur's mount indignant whinnies and a few nips, while Arthur frantically tried to rein in his usually stout stallion, the other knights struggling to keep theirs calm. When the hullabaloo was fought back under control, Arthur dismounted and dispensed his reins to Percival, the nearest knight to him.

He stepped forward cautiously, his hand on the hilt of Excalibur but not drawn yet; many things could make the horses jump, some as simple as a branch that stuck from the ground at a peculiar angle, but some as dangerous as a man lying in wait by the side of the road, a dagger concealed by their side. Arthur's eyes had fortunately adjusted well by now to the gloom, and he observed nothing on their path or by the side of it.

He soon found what it was; on his seventh step, the ground underneath his feet crumbled and he retreated hastily to avoid a fall. With great caution, Arthur knelt and crawled his hands forward to feel the ridge where he had been in danger of slipping. The earth was brittle and it scattered easily, sliding down the steep, concave slope that Arthur could now see. At the bottom of the slope, perhaps 20 feet down, was a cave. The opening was like a dark, hollow maw of some horrific creature, complete with spikes of rocks for teeth that prevented a painless entrance.

Arthur considered. He saw only two options: continue riding through the forest and possibly become lost for eternity, or somehow scramble down the slope and travel through the caves, probably escaping the winding labyrinth of this thick forest – but what was the risk of journeying through the caves? In the end, after deliberation, Arthur saw only one real answer.

He quickly informed his men of the plan; he sounded unsure even to himself. It would be enough of a struggle for them to crawl down the concave slope, but to urge their horses down it and then proceed with no injuries to either party? The feat was near impossible.

Luckily Gwaine's gelding, Eldred, solved the problem for them. When his knight had dismounted, he had snuffled around in the sparse grass for a few seconds before trotting over to join them. Gwaine had absent-mindedly slapped him on his muscled neck lightly, too focused on trying to resolve their conundrum. Arthur and Leon had been muttering about whether they could walk down it normally or whether they'd have to slide down, when Eldred whinnied and leapt over the slope onto the ground below in one clear bound.

He snorted and shook his head, his mane tossed from side to side. Arthur stared at the chestnut steed in astonishment. Why hadn't he thought of simply jumping? He cleared his throat. "Right, then. I guess we're jumping."

LINE BREAK

Merlin knelt on the damp, rock-solid floor, cold seeping through his body like an insistent lover. The awkward crouch that he was positioned in was threatening to rip apart the fragile skin that had formed over the ugly gashes on his back, and the chains clanked with each movement, torture to the raw, hammering agony in his head.

His legs were cramping from being folded up and his arms were aching. His neck burned from holding up his heavy head, but Morgana had a handful of his hair clutched tight in her fist and it would be impossible to let his head droop.

He could hear her breathing, rugged and uneven, desperate, frantic, her breath warm next to his ear. "Broken," she kept whispering over and over again, almost like a crazed mantra. "Broken, broken, broken."

Merlin stayed deathly still, not sure where Morgana was heading with her intonation, but assuming that it was not going to serve him any joy, judging from his past experience of Morgana's insane wrath. A deep lesion on his back finally split open, unable to cope with the pressure that his stretched skin was under for any longer.

The blood was warm and viscous, trickling down his back in petite rivulets. Merlin winced; it was not as painful as the actual whipping had been, not by anyone's standards, but it was still a sharp, stinging, bitter twinging. At the sight of the blood, Morgana breathed out, and the best word that Merlin could think of to describe her sigh was _relieved_. Her continuous chant ended and she stood slowly.

Her nails scratched against metal, the near-silent shriek high and wailing, unkind to Merlin's ears. Merlin's stomach plummeted down to his feet: the _emorragh_ was to be used again. He would have thought by now that Morgana had exhausted all possible uses of the cruel device; maybe she was about to repeat one of her prior torments.

Morgana was humming softly to herself, not a sweet tune, but a broken, unlinking set of notes that grinded on Merlin's ears. They dipped down to a low grumble and then peaked to a squeak in less than a second: the effect was quite unnerving, and Merlin had to ponder whether Morgana was doing this intentionally, or whether she was just a little unstable.

Merlin didn't dare to turn his head for the throbbing in it, but from the corner of his eye he could see that Morgana was slightly to the side and a little behind to where he was positioned, her back towards him, and her head bent over the _emorragh_ intently. Her right leg was jumping up and down ever so slightly, in an irregular pattern and one that did not fit in with her out of tune humming.

Merlin bowed his head, hoping to provide some relief for his tender neck, and attempted to drown out the grating humming that Morgana was emitting. After what seemed like a millennia to Merlin, but was most likely a few minutes, Morgana ceased her tuneless droning and exhaled heavily again. From his peripheral vision, he glimpsed the witch spin slowly, her dress rustling, and then step back towards him at a snail's pace.

"I'm not sure how well this will work," Morgana murmured. From the tone and volume of the voice, and from the way her gaze was directed at the _emorragh_ and not at him, Merlin guessed she wasn't talking to him, but rather to herself; and maybe she wasn't even aware that she was speaking out loud.

Merlin felt the cold, harsh spike press softly into the flesh of his back. For a moment, he felt nothing, but then there was a peculiar sensation in the sides of his head, just underneath the temples. It wasn't painful, but it was uncomfortable. It felt like a liquid, heavy and viscous, that was trickling from his brain and collecting near to his ears.

It was like a swelling inside his cranium, and then suddenly, it burst. Yet again, it wasn't painful, but more of a discomforting feeling. The pressure inside his head slowly wound down, and some kind of molten liquid began to leak from his ears, burning where it touched his skin.

Morgana smirked. It was working. She had never employed this spike before, and now she questioned why. She appreciated better than anyone else that the worst type of pain was emotional and not physical; sometimes, physical could not come close to emotional. But this spike did the impossible, or, she supposed, the improbable. This spike turned the emotive pain into somatic pain, viciously ferocious in its duty, leaving no memory unturned as it converted it to agony.

It trickled from his ears onto his shoulders and then slithered down his front and back. Merlin could see it clearly now; it was bright gold, a brilliant shade, and very thick, but surprisingly fast considering its viscosity. It was scorching, and Merlin had to grit his teeth to cope with the burning sensation, but he had dealt with worst pain in his life. When the liquid touched his cuts, it hissed and sizzled, and Morgana made a sound that Merlin thought was a cross between a chuckle and a groan.

Morgana uttered a strange sounding word, one that Merlin had never heard before, and then he howled in pain, like a feral wolf. The golden liquid had begun to dissolve into his skin, burning through to his innards. It was excruciating, unbearable, agonising; faces flashed p in his vision, obscuring the dank room in which he was being tortured.

Faces of his friends, of family, of people who he did not know, but all of them were people who he didn't save when he had the opportunity. They were burning into his eyes and the pain was not emotional; in that respect, he was numb. But the physical pain was worse than ever. His veins were throbbing, about to explode, and his skin was on fire.

Memories of the worst times of his life were flickering in front of his eyes, and Morgana was cackling manically in the background, and Merlin squeezed his eyes shut but it did no good, it didn't block out the images that he hated seeing, and he was tempted to spill his secrets to Morgana just to make the pain stop but when he opened his mouth the only sound that came out was a continuous, high-pitched screaming.

" _Broken_ ," Morgana whispered in the background.

 


	11. Chapter 11

It took a long time for Merlin to cease screaming, and when he did it was only because his throat had become raw and constricted. In his mind the screech went on and on, high and unbreaking, a wailed expression of torture. Morgana had not left his side during the whole ordeal, but it was not a gesture of comfort; she was kneeling forward, her hair wild about her shoulders, with a small dagger clutched in one hand, which she had withdrawn from the bodice of her dress.

She had not spoken yet but there were questions on her lips, that much was clear as day. The corners twitched up into something like a smile, insane and cruel, driven mad by her thirst for knowledge. Merlin felt pity for the once striking and rational woman: all vestiges of her beauty had been transformed, not into anything repulsive, but into something cruel and senseless and wrathful; her sanity was long gone and nothing would bring back any of her sagacity, nobody was capable of levelling her.

When Merlin’s breaths were coming in shuddering gasps and his hands were deadened from the fusty dungeon floor, Morgana eased herself onto her knees, and then straightened up, still with the dagger grasped in her hand. The point was wickedly sharp, the edges smooth and glinting. Merlin could see only small snatches of his captor as she circled him like a wolf about to leap on cowering prey, the dim light in the cell not kind to his eyes.

“Who is Emrys?” Morgana asked. Her voice was cracked and hoarse; she spoke softly, yet her words were filled with power and persuasion. She demanded rather than asked the information, as Morgana always had.

Merlin tilted his head back, wincing at the cramp in his neck and the roaring that it caused to rush through his ears, the blood that suddenly pounded behind his eyes and the sudden jolt of agony in his skull. “I don’t know,” he rasped, or at least he thought that was what he said; the hissing in his head was louder than the pathetic remnants of his voice.

“Yes you do,” Morgana retorted. She had years of expertise in these areas now and she could tell when a man was lying. Merlin was of the Old Religion, as she was; he must know who Emrys was, everyone seemed to know who Emrys was apart from her, and that drove her to the brink of insanity. She wished that she had the capability to cast a spell that would coerce Merlin to tell the truth, but her strength was not enough for such a deed. She would be drained as soon as she uttered the first word and that would serve no good.

She crouched down in front of the trembling man and dragged her long, skeletal finger up his neck and under the curve of his chin, relishing in the spluttering breathing of her prisoner as the tip of her fingernail caught his skin and left behind a jagged, pink line. Unfortunately she drew no blood but her blade could compensate for that. “Tell me,” Morgana murmured, “and all this will end.”

“Never,” Merlin stuttered, the cold constricting his chest and heart like a clammy hand compressing his torso crudely. Morgana hissed and pressed the point of her knife into his chest, barely but just enough so that the skin above Merlin’s sternum broke and a little blood trickled out.

“Tell me,” Morgana ground out. Silence followed her words, broken only by the dripping of rainwater through a leak in the ceiling elsewhere. With her spare hand, she grabbed a tuft of Merlin’s hair and yanked his head back. The dagger rested against the pale, goosebumped skin of his fragile neck.

“I – don’t – know,” Merlin insisted, his words not coming easily when his throat was restricted at this angle. The dagger was cutting and stinging and harsh, and Merlin wanted to tell Morgana what she wanted to know purely so the cold, steel flesh would stop biting at his throat.

“Yes you do, I know you know,” Morgana snapped in frustration, anger causing her breath to come in short panting gasps. Blood trickled from Merlin’s neck, though not enough to cause him grievous injury. Merlin squeezed his eyes shut. “Come on, Merlin!”

“You won’t have heard of him,” Merlin lied, deciding that if Morgana couldn’t be fooled one way, maybe she could be by another. “He’s very…exclusive.”

Morgana’s eyes glinted. At last she was getting somewhere with the useless serving boy. “I might have,” she urged, lessening her grip on the blade somewhat, although she kept it pressed to his throat.

“No, he haunts - the forests – and – and he – only meets those – who work with, not against – the natural energy.” Merlin wasn’t exactly certain of what he was rambling about now, but it sounded like something that one of Gaius’s dusty books would say. Morgana seemed unconvinced.

“What ‘natural energy’?” she enquired, her eyes narrowing. This was not a term she had heard of; and she was a High Priestess.

“The energy that is – naturally embedded in – in all magic users,” Merlin choked. “Some – do great things – and help the nat- natural world, but – others harm it.”

Morgana raised her eyebrows. She was not entirely sure whether Merlin was lying to her: he had no reason to lie, but no reason to tell the truth either. He seemed not to care whether he lived or died, as long as Morgana did not take the true identity of Emrys from him. So why would he tell the truth now, all of a sudden? Yet he sounded sure of his own tale, and Morgana, while powerful and practiced, had not learnt everything of the old religion quite yet.

“What is his name? His birth name?” Morgana pressed. All of the myths, all of the legends, all of them had spoken of Emrys living under a false name, one his mother had granted him at birth and one that he would hide behind until his time came.

Merlin hesitated. The only names that came to his mind were those of friends and foes he had once met; he did not wish to incriminate anybody. He searched desperately through his mind for a name that was unusual and would not be found anywhere Morgana could go, but he drew a blank. Morgana laughed softly. “Sometimes when we forge lies, we fall down on the simplest of details.” She licked her lips. “One last chance, Merlin.”

Something stirred inside Merlin at the way Morgana spoke his name. The same emphasis as always, but this time more contempt than usual, more disgust. The serving boy who couldn’t do anything, even lie, was what she was thinking. Merlin opened his eyes wide and stared into Morgana’s piercing, emerald irises. She did not flinch or even blink, but stared straight back. “Never, Morgana,” Merlin snarled.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 12
> 
> Warning/s: Torture-y stuff.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin.
> 
> A/N: I am back after my hiatus! Thank you to everyone who has stayed with me and been so understanding about the issues I've been having, I will be updating regularly now and I really hope you enjoy the story! Honestly, the support for this story is absolutely overwhelming so I hope it's still living up to your expectations!

The stallion's back was swaying, his legs wobbling from the fierce, unforgiving sun that beat down on the group. Arthur could sense that his faithful mount was on the verge of collapse, and he could scarcely blame him. Whatever water they had left over from their own rations they gave to their horses, but it was not enough for the large, agile creatures that carried them so faithfully.

Arthur wished that he was back in the forest for a moment: however dense and claustrophobic it had been, the crowd of trees had provided shade with their overhanging boughs and overlapping layers of leaves. It had been pleasantly cool for the majority of the time, and even when the temperature had risen, it had been balmy and the men only required a few sips of water each day, and the horses the equivalent amount.

Arthur squinted into the horizon. He had heard many tales of how wavering hear in the desert and an insufficient supply of fluids could make a man go crazy and see things that weren't truly there. He had grown up with a heavily superstitious father – who had believed these mirages were the work of sorcery – and a learned Court Physician, both of whom near constantly told him stories of those who had wandered too far with insufficient supplies and gone insane from the exhaustion.

But unless he was like those men trekking through the desert in all of those tales, the desert ahead of him seemed to split into two parts, hard to see due to the sand that was all of the same hue, and really only visible to Arthur because his eyes were sharp and trained to pick up on subtle differences. One part remained on the same level as the ground was now, but the other half went down in a gentle slope until it levelled out, and then curved away to the left so the remainder of the path was not visible, compressed sand making up the steep, cliff-like walls with what appeared to be chalk mixed in a little.

It looked to be a fair distance away still, so Arthur had some time to consider what to do when they reached the forked trail, and indeed if it was real. It wouldn't do anything for his knights' morale if their King and leader suddenly started barking out orders over an imaginary path. However, he could hear the loyal group muttering behind him, and from his peripheral vision he could see them gesturing towards the paths as well. Arthur pretended not to see them, but secretly he felt a flood of relief that he hadn't begun to see things. The paths were there, so now all that remained was to figure out his plan. The most obvious, logical option was to split his group into two and have each half take one of the paths.

But, Arthur mused as he worried at his lip with his teeth, there were several major flaws with that plan. Firstly, the two separated groups might never find each other again, if the split road didn't meet up at the end. Secondly, he had no idea what lay beyond either of these paths. Knowing his luck, there would be a whole host of magical creatures that even his oddly fortunate luck wouldn't be able to defeat. And thirdly, what if Merlin was behind one of the paths? Would only half the group be enough to nurse him back to health and take him back to Camelot?

But then, on the other hand, if he took the whole group down one path and then had to retreat because it led them directly to a dead end, and Merlin was at the end of the other, how much time would he have wasted? And what if Merlin wasn't at either end of the paths? Or what if they were walking into a trap?

He swallowed his nerves and forced himself to think of what was best for Merlin. If someone found him then it would be easier to save him, even if it was just half the group. And even if they didn't find Merlin there, they might have at least discovered something about this land they were in. "Let's split up," Arthur called back to the group, as they approached the forked paths. He swallowed any doubt and made sure to shield his anxiety from his voice; men were like horses, sometimes, and if they sensed your fear, could become skittish themselves. "Gwaine, Elyan and Percival, you take the left path." He pointed towards the path that sloped downwards and then curved around. "Leon and I will take the other. It's the quickest way to find Merlin."  _Or maybe not,_  he added silently in his head, but as often as Merlin called him various insults insinuating his stupidity, the King wasn't foolish enough to add that last piece.

He glanced around quickly to gauge their reactions; they were all nodded or making noises of agreement. He allowed himself a quick flash of pride before getting on with the task at hand, both for himself for making the decision and for the men he led for not questioning him. Their eternal trust was both comforting and terrifying. His loyal knights were no more than a couple of strides behind him, so he did not bother to pause before he pushed his stallion into a canter and headed onwards, his stallion's hooves thudding along the path he had decided to take. He wondered momentarily if he should have volunteered to take the lower path himself, but there was a gut feeling that the others would tackle it better. The reason for it, he was unsure of, but from how often Merlin had "funny feelings" that actually came true, he let his heart rule his head for once.

He glanced down and saw the three knights cantering down the sloping path, before disappearing out of sight from the copious twists and turns. He could heard the steady hoof beats of Leon's gelding behind him, thudding loudly on the compressed sand. It was so tightly-packed that it was like solid, unyielding stone. Arthur was glad for that at least; loose sand was slippery, and it really wouldn't do for either horse or knight to become injured now.

* * *

Merlin did not know how Morgana was doing this; he possessed the most powerful magic known to the Old Religion, but he could not even begin to fathom how he would cast this spell. He supposed that it could be a spell that he had never heard of; or maybe it was a combination of spells that he had never used because unlike Morgana, he preferred to use his magic for good purposes.

It was a burning sensation, beginning in his feet and spreading upwards, right from the very tips of his toes, and rolling upwards millimetre by agonising millimetre. It felt like wicked, abnormally scorching flames were licking at his skin, melting it away and singeing his bones, leaving behind the heap of his seared skeleton and molten organs. But it was doing no damage to him that could be seen; between splutters of pain and cries of agony, he forced himself to glance down and saw his clothes still intact and his skin pale and unblemished, despite the fire torturing his whole body.

Morgana was sitting opposite him, moving her hands around lazily. She was controlling the fire, Merlin had realised, and was making the invisible flames sweep up and down his body with infuriatingly indifferent boredom. Merlin was holding his head up, craning his neck, as if he was a drowning man gasping for air. In reality he was just trying to escape the flames that were brushing his neck, trying to stop them from reaching his skull. He knew there was nothing there, really, but he could only imagine how painful the sensation would be if it were to reach his brain.

Luckily for him, Morgana seemed to grow bored of this cruel method after not too long. She was obviously hoping for him to reveal who Emrys was, but he was in such agonising pain that he couldn't even speak, let alone spill his secrets if he wanted to. Whether this was the reason why she stopped, or whether a flicker of the old Morgana came through and she felt a rush of empathy, Merlin wasn't sure. If he had to gamble, he would have put his money on the former though. Morgana had become so warped from her power and lust for vengeance that Merlin couldn't bring himself to believe that there was any of the kind woman left.

"You're useless," Morgana mumbled, a different tone to her usual crystal-clear voice. "Worthless. I don't know why I even bothered." She staggered to her feet, clutching at the wall, and stumbled towards the entrance of the cell. The spell had weakened her, Merlin realised. He wasn't surprised because he knew himself of how strong magic could drain his very being. But the iron fetters still chained him down so he was unable to attack when she was weak enough that he might succeed. He clenched his fists together in frustration and agony, imagining golden streams running through the tendons in his arms and bursting open the manacles.

Merlin knew that she was getting impatient, and soon she was going to up the torture she was putting him through. He shuddered when he thought of how much pain he was in already. He had to get out of there – he didn't know how, but he knew he would give in soon. And if he did, there would be unimaginable consequences.

* * *

Arthur had almost fallen asleep in the saddle, and he was sure that Leon had as well. The path they had taken was no different to before. There were no lakes around, no trees, not even insects or bugs. It was just a barren landscape. Neither of them had dared to speak in case anything leapt out at them suddenly in this unknown land, but unfortunately the lack of speech and similar horizon had dulled their brains.

Both of the knights woke up, however, when they began to tilt forwards. Arthur blinked, barely able to fathom anything anymore. He felt like his mind needed to be sharpened, like a sword having a whetting stone cast along its edge. They were heading downwards, down a steep hill made of yet more sand. Arthur wondered sleepily whether they were going to meet up with the end of the other path that Elyan, Gwaine and Percival had been sent through. He voiced this opinion to Leon, who agreed. Suddenly they were both wide-awake, as if they had just woken up from the best night's sleep in years.

Indeed, when the path became straight again, they saw the twisting valley that the others had ridden down. By now it was pitch black and bitterly cold, and a wind had started up and sand that drifted along the surface of the harder, compacted ground was threatening to invade their eyes and nose.

"Sire, we should make camp." Leon brought his horse to a gentle halt and Arthur followed suit, patting his horse's neck gratefully. He would give him as much water and food as he could spare tonight.

He agreed immediately – even if he didn't want to, he was too tired to argue. "Good idea. The others will find us; if they had come out already, I'm sure they would have waited." In the distance, he spotted something shimmering in the moonlight. Dimly, he wondered if he was starting to hallucinate now. "Leon, tell me if I'm wrong; but is that a lake over there?"

Leon squinted over to where the king was pointing and smiled. "I believe it is, Sire." He dismounted and took a few jogging strides forward. "Shall I water the horses?"

"Yes!" Arthur exclaimed. He scrambled down from his own horse and grabbed the camping equipment that was slung over his hindquarters. "I'll begin to set up camp." He felt giddy; he and the rest of the knights had enough water to last them another two weeks, if they were careful with their rations, but he was becoming increasingly worried about the horses. He watched as Leon led the weary mounts towards the small pool of water.

He quickly unpacked the equipment, and just as he had finished getting everything set up, Leon headed back. The horses looked far more energized now, trotting eagerly, even whinnying when they saw that Arthur had pulled out two apples for them. "There were a few patches of grass," Leon explained. "They ate and drank their fill."

"Good." Arthur patted his horse and loosened the girth to allow him to relax, tossing one of the apples to Leon and allowing his stallion to crunch up his own. "Let's settle down until the others arrive." He accepted a few dry twigs that Leon had gathered and piled them close, but not dangerously so, to the beds he had laid out. He used two to create a spark, wishing that Merlin was there with his uncanny ability to set anything alight in a matter of seconds, and soon a fire had blazed up strongly.

Arthur had meant to stay awake to see if the others arrived, but when he saw Leon's eyelids closing, he thought he might as well rest his eyes for a bit as well. Not to go to sleep, obviously, but just a quick break. One of them had to keep watch, of course. Who knew what sort of creatures lurked here? He needed to be alert and on top of his game.

Unfortunately, his willpower wasn't quite as strong as he would have liked it to be, and within a few minutes he was snoring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Leave me a review maybe so I know my writing doesn't suck? Pretty please?


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hello again my lovely readers! I'm sorry that my updates aren't incredibly regular or very close together, as some of you probably hoped for, but between my summer work (I'm doing A-levels next year), my volunteer work and my beta being quite busy, it does take a while for the chapters to get done. Hopefully it should never be more than two weeks or so, but I really cant make any promises. I wish I could update every week, but I just can't. I have several other stories that I'm also writing stuff for, I have loads of work to do and my life is generally just quite busy right now, so what can you do?
> 
> Anyway, I really hope you enjoy this chapter and thanks to everyone who reviewed last time! It really gets my confidence up and inspires me to write quicker, so keep up the good work! I'm glad you're all still enjoying the story and for those of you who were worried about Merlin, his pain may be over soon! It depends how generous I'm feeling with the future chapters...mwahahaha...

 

Arthur woke at the lightest noises, due to his honed warrior's instincts, and that trip was no exception. He was jolted to consciousness when a horse whinnied and sat bolt upright in seconds, reaching for his sword. There wasn't any danger around them that he could see, so he glanced over at the horses and sighed in relief when he realised that they were simply speaking to each other. Much to Arthur's relief, there were considerably more horses now than there were before when it had been just him and Leon, which could only mean one thing. He looked around him and grinned when he saw his men all sleeping peacefully. Except for –

"Morning," Gwaine said cheerily, emerging from behind the horses. "Thanks for waiting up for us to return."

"Shut up," Arthur said quietly, smiling and running a hand over his face. "We meant to."

"Don't worry about it," Gwaine said in his usual carefree way. "The more rest you get, the more prepared you'll be to find Merlin." A dark shadow passed over the easy-going knight's face at the mention of his – their – friend, but it was gone as quickly as it arrived, and Arthur was left to wonder if he was just projecting his own emotions onto Gwaine.

"We should get going again," Arthur said, after glancing up at the sky. The sun wasn't quite in the middle of the sky, but it was getting there; Arthur would have placed the time at around an hour, maybe two, before noon.

Gwaine nodded his agreement and moved to unhitch the horses, patting each one as he went and giving them a few sips of water. Arthur sheathed his sword and went about waking up his men, greeting those whom he hadn't seen last night.

* * *

They had been riding for several hours , with Arthur at the head of the pack. The heat was starting to dull his brain; the terrain was consistent and as such boring. He perked up a little when they approached a steep hill, if only because it was different, and felt a little apprehension about how vertical the slope was; he hoped the sand was as compact as it was everywhere else, or the horses would struggle.

He was the first to come over the crest of the hill – the sand was thankfully easy to walk up – and therefore, the first to see what awaited them on the other side of the hill. There was, quite clearly, a rotting castle ahead of him. It was about half the size of Camelot's, crumbling and decaying, with the lowest floor still intact but the higher levels decrepit. The bricks were an ebony colour, tinged green with moss and mould, and the sand around the castle was an odd grey colour. It wasn't a gradual fade, either; the sand was golden and shining up until a radius of a few feet around the castle, where the sand there suddenly became dreary and dusty. He could hardly believe his eyes; this had to be what Morchant was talking about, surely? He couldn't imagine that the building could be anything else, especially in a place like this. "Quickly!" he called back to his men, trotting down the other side of the hill and halting there, waiting impatiently for them to join him.

The steady clop of trotting hoof-beats came behind him, and then they gradually faded out as the horses were pulled to a halt alongside Arthur. The knights' faces held similar expressions of mingled shock and relief and hope, and Leon asked, "Is that where Merlin is?" It was easy to hear the concern in his voice; like everyone in Camelot, he was fond of the improper servant.

Arthur's mouth was set in a grim line, mostly to stop himself from getting his hopes up, but also due to the cogs that were turning in his brain. How were they going to get in there? "I think so." He felt euphoric relief, and his brain was almost fuzzy with joy, but he had to force himself to focus so that he could plan how they were going to rescue Merlin. "We should wait until it is dark to get any closer. We don't want to risk Morgana catching sight of us."

Gwaine hopped down from his mount. "If we went quickly enough, we could take her by surprise, dark or not," he suggested. "Even if we go by foot."

"I want to rescue Merlin as much as you do, Gwaine, but we need to do this right. We only have one chance to get Merlin out of that place and save him from Morgana. We can't mess it up." Arthur gestured towards the barren land around them. "There's no cover, and if Morgana takes Merlin elsewhere, we may never find him."

"Fine," Gwaine huffed. "Let's plan." He threw himself onto the floor, leg twitching impatiently. "Hurry up about it, though." The other knights exchanged looks with their king, one that clearly said, 'he's going to be a pain to deal with now.'

* * *

Merlin could feel his resolve breaking with every snap of the bones in his fingers. Each time a bone broke in half with a loud, unbelievably painful crack, Merlin couldn't stop himself from crying out. It had only been shouts of pain so far, but he didn't know how long it would take before he was blurting out what Morgana wanted to know.

He knew from Gaius that there were many bones in the fingers, and even more in the hand; if she moved on, he definitely wouldn't be able to cling onto the desperate thought of 'don't give in' that he had. He had broken a finger before, when he had decided to try and stop a tree from collapsing with his bare hands – the panic had made him forget that he could simply use his magic – but the bone was only fractured that time. This time, the bones were physically snapping in two.

He had suffered so much pain at her hands and this was possibly the last straw. He had never imagined that broken fingers could be so torturously painful, especially when each one was broken one by one, slowly and skilfully.

Thank the Gods Morgana was on the last finger. When she had run her own slender, pale fingers down his, she suddenly pulled harshly at the magic that surrounded her in a cloud and there was a pop as the bone slid out of place, and then a snap as she twisted the finger back.

Merlin screamed out, but managed to restrain himself from leaking the secret that Morgana wanted to know so badly. It would stop the pain, but at what cost? She might kill him, but that wasn't Merlin's main concern – he was more worried that he wouldn't be able to protect Arthur anymore.

"Pathetic," Morgana snarled. Merlin hardly noticed – she had insulted him so many times now it was like water rolling off a duck's back. It went straight into one ear and out of the other, because he no longer bothered to listen. He heard, but he didn't listen.

She stalked out of the cell, leaving Merlin to his own devices. He curled up on the floor, cradling his hands together against his stomach, whimpering in pain. He was going to crack soon, he knew he was. It had come on very suddenly, this urge to break. One moment he was confident that he would never tell Morgana anything, but the next second, he just wanted all of the pain and anguish to stop. And he very badly wanted his magic back.

It was too dark in his cell to see anything, not even his own body, so Merlin resigned himself to sleep. He had tried to escape so many times already, and he was weary. This was it; he was giving up. He would wait until the next morning when Morgana came back, and when she asked, "Ready to talk?" as she always did, he would say 'yes' and beg her to stop this torture. Then he would tell her his biggest secret, and damn the consequences. His brain had melted.

He hated this – he hated that he had to give up everything, and Morgana would kill him probably, or try to convince him to join her side, but that didn't matter. He hadn't seen Arthur for a long time, and had convinced himself that all that Arthur said about accepting his magic was just a lie. All of the knights hated him, that was quite obvious. That was why they had not come to rescue him.

* * *

Gwaine was restless for the rest of the day, and in the end he mounted his horse and rode a wide circle around them, making everyone dizzy except for himself. Even his horse was disorientated by the end of it and staggered off to find the others. They had made a plan and discussed it over and over again until everyone was sick of hearing it, but Arthur was now becoming more and more nervous by the second.

What if something went wrong and they couldn't find Merlin? Or if Morgana had already done something truly dreadful? Or if Morgana killed all of them and then went back to doing whatever she was doing to Merlin? Arthur shuddered at the thought of someone so much as laying their hands on Merlin.

He found himself watching the sun as it sunk lower and lower into the sky, waiting and waiting for night to fall. He busied himself with stupid tasks, like making sure the horses were securely tied to the small plant stumps they had found and inspecting his sword to make sure it was sharp enough for whatever dangers lay ahead. He even took off his boots at one point and checked them for holes, as if that would impair him in anyway whatsoever.

Finally, after what seemed to Arthur like centuries, the sun had completely disappeared underneath the horizon and the sky was beginning to darken. They were fortunate that there was no moonlight that night, as the moon itself was hidden behind several black, gloomy clouds, and whatever light the stars might have thrown out was extinguished for the same reason. It was almost as if the world was trying to assist them.

"It is time," Arthur said in a low voice. He stood up and withdrew his sword, checking one last time that his horse was secured and taking a swig from his water skin. "Merlin is in there. And this is our one chance; does everybody remember the plan?" The knights surrounding him all nodded, looking just as solemn as he felt. "Then we attack. And we save Merlin."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So this story is probably going to be over soon, as the knights are just heading in - will they succeed? Who knows? - and I am, of course, planning a sequel to this story, involving caring for Merlin etc. If you have any ideas of what you'd like to see if the next instalment, start telling me now and I'll work it all in! Love you all xxx


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 14
> 
> Warning/s: None that I can think of?
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Merlin.
> 
> A/N: Ahhh this story is nearly over!!!!!!!! Only two more chapters (after this one) and then the sequel! Well, that's scary. I'm scared. Are you scared? I'm scared.
> 
> Sorry. I'm in a weird mood.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you are all enjoying the story still and please leave me some feedback so I know what you all think of the story!

They proceeded in a line, all of them riding at the same pace. Arthur was dead in the middle, Gwaine next to him on his left, Elyan then Percival on his right, and Leon next to Gwaine.

Percival was the first to split off from the group, with a quick nod and a small nudge in his mount's sides. That was when they got within a hundred yards of the castle, just about to enter the odd circle of sand. And then another twenty yards in, having just breached the grey substitute, Elyan and Leon split off, exchanging looks with their King. That left Arthur and Gwaine, heading as quietly as possible to their destination. They slowed to a trot as they neared the building.

Percival was attacking from the back where, they suspected from the layout of the castle, the cells would be. Arthur's instinct led him to believe that was where Merlin would be, so Percival had been sent to find him. He was the only knight out of all of them who he felt could face Morgana and maybe hold her off a little with pure brute force; aside from that, he could carry Merlin like he weighed no more than a child and was the most knowledgeable about medicine out of them – excluding Merlin of course, but he wasn't exactly an option right now.

Elyan and Leon were attacking from the side, where Arthur had spotted some rotting stones. Their plan was to burst in and take Morgana by surprise at the same time that Percival managed to get in the back somehow – Arthur suspected there would be a grate like in Camelot – and then he and Gwaine would come in from the front. Hopefully Percival wouldn't need to deal with Morgana at all, but if the worst came to it, they wouldn't be far away.

It seemed a simple enough plan, but this was Morgana they were dealing with, and Merlin who they were rescuing, and Arthur's palms were sweating more than they ever had before. More because of Morgana, of course. Not Merlin. He was just his servant; Arthur didn't care for a servant. Of course not.

Just as the group had predicted, there was a metal grate around the back of a castle, which blocked off the entrance to a tunnel which clearly led into the building. Percival was relieved that he wouldn't have to find some other way of breaking in, because that would only complicate the entire plan and maybe even cause it to fail. It even seemed big enough to accommodate him, which was a stroke of luck. For a second Percival was suspicious; everything seemed to be too perfect and in his opinion, when things seemed perfect, it was a trap. But Percival pushed those negative thoughts away because even if it was a trap, they needed to get Merlin out.

It was old and rusty, and Percival had no problem in ripping it off. The tunnel was a little smaller than he had estimated from the outside, meaning that Percival had to crawl through it, but he still managed to get through with relative ease. He had to pause once or twice when his sword belt shifted and made it near impossible for him to move. Once he reached the edge of the damp, dark tube, he waited for the signal. His breathing sounded loud and heavy to his own ears, and he hoped it was just paranoia that was making him think that.

He used the waiting time to get his bearings. The tunnel seemed to open out into a small room, which fortunately for him only had a doorway or no door. Again, Percival's suspicions were raised, but it was entirely possible that Morgana hadn't bothered to make any defence against intruders because this castle was damn near impossible to find.

He was only there for a couple of minutes when he heard a great crash and two roars – the signal. That meant Elyan and Leon had burst through the rotting part of the wall, kicking the bricks out of their way, and that Percival needed to move now while Morgana was – hopefully – distracted.

He scrambled out from the tunnel, only to be met with the back of a well-built bodyguard of Morgana's. The scuffle he created when he tumbled out made the bodyguard turn around, but before he could even draw his sword, Percival cut him down easily, not even having to use both of his arms. He took a moment to glance around him, checking for any more enemies, and then once he thought the coast was clear, headed down the corridor. He didn't grab a torch from one of the holders in the walls just yet, even though it was incredibly tempting to, in case it would result in him getting spotted.

But luck seemed to be on his side – again with Percival's suspicions. He was started to get tired of them himself now – and he ran into nobody else on his way. From the yells and clangs of sword on sword behind him, he suspected that Elyan and Leon had more than their fair share of bodyguards attacking them. He sent a silent prayer for them and carried on. In any other situation, he would turn back and help them to fend off any attackers, but his job was to find Merlin. And if the desperation in Arthur's eyes was anything to go by, he'd rather die fighting than have Merlin stay here.

At the end of the corridor, there was a set of stairs leading downwards. He guessed that was where the cells or dungeon would be, if there was one. He hoped that he was getting close to where Merlin was, and grabbed a torch now. He kept his other hand clenched tightly around his sword. Of course, all of his assumptions were based off what Camelot's own castle was like, and Percival had never been in any others. He had no clue if Camelot was the archetypal citadel or if it was in fact, an odd one out.

He was right – there were lines of cells down here. Most had their doors falling off from age, others were filled with decomposing corpses. Percival screwed up his nose at the smell, shuddered and called out hesitantly, "Merlin?" He couldn't be one of the decomposing corpses already – it took some time for bodies to rot – but as Percival cast his gaze down the cells, he saw that the bodies were becoming fresher and fresher. He hoped Merlin wouldn't be the freshest one.

He thought he heard a whimper, but wasn't sure. He walked another few paces forward and tried again, and this time he was sure he heard his name being whispered, a gentle, questioning, hesitant, "Percival?" He ran down the line of cells, shining the torch into each and every one of them, looking out for that familiar black hair, until at last he came across Merlin.

"Merlin!" he cried out in joy, and fiddled with the door. "It's locked!" he called in desperation. Merlin was curled up on the floor, but the dim lighting made it near impossible to see if – and how – badly injured he was. The servant glanced up at him, and stared for a few seconds. He couldn't trust his own brain any more, but finally he had to accept that this was real. Mainly because he feel the heat coming from the torch that the giant of a knight was holding.

"There should be a bottle on the table behind you," Merlin wheezed finally. Percival frowned – he did not sound healthy at all. His heart had initially jumped with joy but now it had sunk down to his stomach, worried sick about the manservant. "Can you pass it through the bars to me?"

"Of course." Percival turned around and shone the torch over the table, and saw a small bottle containing blue liquid almost immediately. He ran back over to the cell door and passed the bottle through the bars to Merlin as quickly as he could, worried that his clammy fingers would allow the bottle to slip from his grip and smash on the floor.

Merlin took the cork out slowly, his hands visibly shaking, and swallowed the liquid, wincing at the movement it caused his body. "What is that?" Percival asked curiously. He had never seen anything like it. He rattled the bars again, gritting his teeth at his inability to do anything. He would have set the torch down in the cell to give Merlin some light, but there were a few twiggy clumps of straw scattered around and the last thing Percival wanted to do was start a fire.

Merlin set the bottle down vehemently. "She gave me this poison thing which blocked my magic. This is the antidote for it." Percival couldn't help but notice how nervous Merlin sounded.

"Will it take time to come back?"

"Should be pretty soon." Finally Percival realised why Merlin wasn't meeting his eyes and keeping his voice low and pleading.

"Our priority is getting you out, Merlin. We don't care about your magic, especially not right now."

Merlin glanced up. "Thank you," he said softly. He shivered and flexed a few muscles. Percival watched, fascinated, as several golden strands of what looked like dust circling around Merlin's body. Then a few seconds later, Merlin announced, "I think my magic's come back. Go back a bit?"

Percival retreated hurriedly, and couldn't help but jump when Merlin raised a hand and the metal door flew off. "That's one way to do it," he muttered, rushing in. He quickly lit the brazier outside of the cell and dragged it inside so he could see Merlin better.

"Oh, Gods," Percival muttered, taking in the extent of Merlin's injuries. He knew a little about healing, but he wasn't prepared for this in any way. He only knew one thing for certain: Arthur was going to be a wreck.

Arthur was secretly glad that he had Gwaine with him, because he wasn't sure that he would be able to fend off so many soldiers by himself. Of course, if he was ever questioned, he would deny that and insist that taking down those bodyguards was the easiest thing he'd ever done and Gwaine only served to make it even more of child's play. He hoped that Leon and Elyan were having the same success as them; so far they had slain all of the bodyguards that had come their way, and were carrying on the same way. They would be facing Morgana in no time, a prospect that didn't exactly thrill Arthur. But the quicker they defeated Morgana, the sooner they could save Merlin.

The two were synchronised in their movements; they slayed the last of the men simultaneously and then jogged along the long, winding corridors together, seeking Morgana.

"I'll bet anything that Morgana's in there," Gwaine muttered a few minutes later as they approached what looked like the main hall of this dilapidated castle. Arthur nodded, and was saved from having to think of an answer on his feet when Elyan and Leon approached from the opposite direction, grins on their faces.

"All down," Elyan said, only a little out of breath. "We checked all over, including your side."

"Thank you," Arthur said with a smile, clasping Elyan's wrist and then Leon's. "We think Morgana is in there." He indicated the room with a jerk of his head. "I want to go in there alone."

"Are you sure, Sire?" Leon asked, just a hint of doubt in his voice. He trusted Arthur with his life, with the lives of everyone in Camelot, but he more than anyone else knew how strong Morgana had become. "Morgana is a dangerous enemy."

"I know," Arthur said, exhaling sharply. "But I must be the one to do this." He saw the understanding nods of the knights around him and felt a rush of gratitude for how loyal they were to him. "Keep on guard for any more of Morgana's men," he said curtly, letting his usual kingly demeanour take over. He couldn't become too sensitive, and anyway, he fought better like that. "We'll find Percival and Merlin after Morgana no longer poses a threat."  _If she no longer poses a threat_ , Arthur added to himself, but didn't say out loud.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Please leave me some feedback and let me know about anything that you want to see in the next part of this series! I have the basic plot fanned out but please tell me if there's anything you specifically want to see :) I think it's fairly obvious where this story is going now, so the next story is going to be hurt!Merlin and caring!knights.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 15
> 
> Warning/s: None that I can think of?
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin.
> 
> A/N: I really love the word cackle

 

The doors slammed shut behind the King of Camelot. His half-sister was staring out of the window with her back to him, but she whirled around immediately when she heard the door creak open and close. The pleased expression on her face told him immediately that she had been expecting one of her henchmen to come in with news of the captured knights. The smirk was slapped from her face when she saw who was really there.

"Arthur," Morgana said. She tried to smother the surprise in her tone, but she couldn't hide it completely from the man who knew her better than anyone else in this world. It almost overcame the total contempt that had steadily seeped into her words.

"Morgana," Arthur replied, making sure his tone was calm and even. "What happened to you?" This could be the last time he ever faced Morgana, for whichever reason. He wanted answers to questions that had never been answered.

"I woke up and realised the truth," she snarled, moving away from the window to be closer to him. Her dress was black and had a slim skirt with a corset. Her skin looked so pale against the sharp colour that she looked ill, the shadows under her eyes giving her a manic look.

"The truth is that magic is not always evil; but you have done nothing to prove that." Arthur clenched his sword a little more but didn't pull it out yet. He didn't want to provoke Morgana into an attack, not when she was behaving slightly civil at least.

"It's Uther's fault!" Morgana screeched, suddenly turning from calm and composed to livid. "He did this to me! He always said that magic users were evil so I believed it!" She inhaled sharply. "It turned me into what I am now." She exhaled finally. "At first I despised myself for what I had become; but then I realised that actually, this is the only way for magic to come back into the land."

"Lies," Arthur scoffed. "That's not the only way; it's not a way at all." He drew his sword now, but kept it limp by his side. "And you know that's not the reason, in any way or form."

"He told me that who I was, who I am, is evil. How would you feel?" Morgana snarled. "And I did not feel safe in Camelot. The only person who I could talk to was Morgause and when she left, it broke me."

"None of this excuses what you have done and what you continue to do," Arthur growled, lifting his sword to shoulder height. He could sense that Morgana's rage was growing steadily and any little thing could set her off.

Morgana laughed, but unlike the soft, pleasant sound that it used to be, it was cruel and harsh, a cackle. "You really think a sword can defeat me, Arthur? You're as stupid as you look." She lifted her hand, palm out, and Arthur felt a strong breeze hit him, and then he flew backwards and hit the wall. Luckily for him, his back bore the brunt of the force, and his head narrowly missed out on the moulding stones. He was a little stunned from the impact and the pain, but soon recovered himself and stood up shakily, using his sword for balance.

"I will defeat you," he said, though his voice lacked the confidence it had before. "Especially for what you have done to Merlin." He swallowed again and wished his entire body would shop trembling. It probably wasn't a very intimidating sight for a powerful priestess of the Old Religion.

"Oh, really?" Morgana laughed. "I wish you luck, dear brother. Merlin has been through so much that I'm amazed he has stayed sane. But I fear he will not be himself anymore…just wait until I'm actually finished with him, because I will kill you, and all of your knights and then I will break Merlin until he is just an empty shell."

Arthur felt his breathing speed up as her speech went on, infuriated that she was making light of his best friend's soul. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but instead he lunged towards Morgana with his sword thrust out, catching her off-guard. It was by no means a fatal blow, but he still managed to catch her in the leg and she stumbled, falling backwards onto the floor. She was still powerful though, and using her magic she simply pushed him away from her whilst she attempted to stem the blood flowing from her thigh through her dress and onto the floor.

Then the door flew open.

* * *

"Now that my magic has returned, I can heal most of myself," Merlin said, to try to reassure Percival. The big knight was gazing at Merlin's injuries with horror. He internally laughed; he was the one in near mortal peril and here he was, comforting a bear of a man.

"She's hurt you so much," Percival gasped, examining his bare back. "Is that from a whip?" He reached out as if to trace the wounds that littered his body, but then obviously thought better of it and retracted his hand with an apologetic look.

Merlin nodded, not able to find his voice. "Percival, focus on me," he said in a gravelly voice. When he had the knight's attention, he continued, "I need you to help me. I can heal myself but I'll need you to clean off the blood and find me a shirt."

"Of course," Percival said. "I saw a basket further down the corridor. It might have clothes in it." The knight seemed to be able to gather himself together when he was given clear instructions, and wandered out of the door purposely yet dazed.

Merlin nodded, closing his eyes to heal himself. He wasn't a natural healer, but he was decent enough. He just needed to be able to focus. His magic was so natural, so much a part of him, that he could ask it to do most things and it wouldn't find it too difficult.

He felt a familiar warmth rush through his body, tingling and swirling round every muscle and bone and tendon. Some of the pain was relieved instantly; other areas, such as the whip scars on his back, stung a little as they always did when the skin knitted over them. He stretched his shoulders a little and prodded himself, relieved to find that his fingers were no longer in agony.

Percival returned holding a large, white shirt. Or at least, what remained of one. It was ripped, one of the sleeves was missing, and it was covered in blood. "This was the only thing that looked remotely like a shirt," he said breathlessly. "I had to search through the cells for it."

"I can sort it," Merlin said confidently, accepting the shirt. He closed his eyes and envisaged the full shirt, clean and intact, in his mind. When he heard Percival gasp, he knew that the trick had worked, and he opened his eyes to examine the now fresh shirt. He had infused it with something to disinfect it as well.

"Thank you," Merlin said gratefully. He waved his hand and a bowl of water appeared, along with a cloth. "I didn't think you'd be able to find a shirt at all." He looked up at the knight, still worried after hiding his secret for such a long time.

"I know magic is banned and all that," Percival said hesitantly, his voice a whisper, "but that's really cool." He seemed awed.

Merlin grinned. "I know." He dunked the cloth in the water and rubbed it over his chest gently, clearing away the dried blood and general grime that had accumulated. He didn't need to be gentle for fear of opening up the wounds, but more because his skin was still tender to the touch. "Thank you for coming, by the way."

"You don't need to thank us," Percival said, taking the cloth from Merlin when he turned around and wiping his back down gently. Although he tried his best to be gentle, the healed welts were still raw and painful and even the gentlest of touches caused agony.

"I thought you weren't coming," Merlin admitted in a small voice. He felt stupid saying it now.

"We never leave a friend," Percival said quietly. They spent a few more minutes in silence as Percival cleaned Merlin's back, and then chucked the cloth into the bowl.

Merlin shrugged the shirt on. "Right, where's Arthur?" he said briskly, getting straight down to business.

Percival blinked. "What?"

"Where's Arthur? I need to get to him. He's probably trying to fight Morgana or something ridiculous like that," Merlin said impatiently. "She's got magic, there's no way he'll be able to fight her. Arrogant prat."

"No, Merlin, we're going back outside to wait for the others and then we're going straight back to Camelot." Percival said it firmly, just like Gaius would have, but somehow it wasn't as effective as the aging physician. Maybe it was the lack of raised eyebrow.

Merlin sighed in irritation. He squeezed his eyes shut and then smiled. "I've teleported the horses back to Camelot. So there wouldn't be much point."

Percival stared at him, half-awed by his power and half-annoyed by his antics. "You really want to face Morgana?" he asked incredulously. "After all you've been through?"

Merlin nodded definitely. "I'm the only one who can bring her down. Arthur will die otherwise." Then his expression went from confident to puzzled. "I wonder what the guards will think when the horses just appear outside of the gates."

Percival stared at him for a few seconds, first registering the bizarre second half of his speech, and then trying to decide what to do. "Damn you," he finally whispered, and linked one of his arms around Merlin's waist to help him walk.

"Thank you," Merlin said happily as he was dragged along, his weak legs not able to keep up with Percival's pace. He wasn't worried though, because he didn't need his legs to do magic. Just his hands.

"I don't know where he is exactly," Percival admitted. "But I'm sure we'll find him easily."

"That's fine," Merlin said, glancing down each crevice as Percival helped him up the stairs. "She usually spends her time plotting in the hall of this castle. I can hear her cackling all the way down here. I think it's just along this corridor."

Percival tried not to think about how long Merlin must have been here for to figure all of that out. He continued up the stairs in silence, his default setting, until they finally reached the top, and immediately they both caught sight of Leon and Elyan, and then Gwaine, standing by some doors.

"Leon!" Percival yelled to get his attention. He began walking to him again, with Merlin doing an odd drag-walk next to him, his face breaking into a smile when he saw the knights, especially Gwaine.

Leon turned around with his sword drawn, but his face broke into a smile when he saw them both. Gwaine came rushing out and embraced Merlin maybe just a bit too enthusiastically, considering his extensive injuries, and Elyan did the same, though with more care.

"Good to have you back, Merlin," Leon say, never one for physical affection.

"I need to go in there," Merlin said quickly, after greeting them all back. "Morgana will use her magic against Arthur, and he'll be no match for her." He unwound himself from Percival's grip, leaning on the wall to regain his balance.

"You are?" Elyan asked curiously. "I mean, I'm not doubting you, but we've all seen how powerful she is."

"Trust me, I am," Merlin reassured them, and limped towards the doors with some difficulty. He opened them with his mind and stepped in, closing them behind him again. Leon was the only one who looked a little uncomfortable; he had grown up in Camelot and had never seen magic that close before.

"Will he be alright?" Gwaine asked, pacing nervously. He knew not to interfere with Merlin's plan, but he hadn't enjoyed seeing his friend going into peril.

"He'll be fine," Percival said confidently. "You should have seen how quickly he healed his injuries."

"How bad were his injuries?" Gwaine asked, his tone one of a man who didn't really want to know the answer.

"Well…" Percival took in a big breath. This could take some time, and he wasn't the most eloquent of men.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hope you all enjoyed his chapter! Only one more after this one :( but then the sequel! So don't be too sad :)


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 16
> 
> Warning/s: IT'S THE FINAL COUNTDOWN
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin.
> 
> A/N: Sorry…what did you say? The…the last chapter? *shakes head* no…it can't be!
> 
> Disclaimer 2: this first half of this chapter was written whilst watching jacksepticeye on YouTube (who, if you don't know, is an incredibly energetic and hilarious games commentator) and the second half was written whilst listening to the Swan Lake Suite Op. 20, so if this chapter is weird, that's why. I love both of those things but they do NOT go together.

"Morgana," Merlin wheezed, as both heads turned to him. There were gasps from both of those standing inside, Arthur's one of shock but relief, and Morgana's simply one of shock. The shock soon turned to a sneer, but Arthur was simply glad to see his friend, if not alarmed at seeing his friend in such a state.

"How are you even standing?" Morgana questioned, her eyes flinty. "I severed your kneecaps, I know I did."

Merlin heard Arthur gasp but ignored that for now. "You shouldn't leave the antidote to your magic-blocking potion so close by." He moved in front of Arthur, his king and friend, sending him a look that told him to stay behind him.

"Of course," Morgana snarled. "No matter. Neither of you can defeat me, not even with your magic, Merlin."

"Can anyone defeat you?" Merlin asked innocently, knowing full well who could – himself.

"Only Emrys can, and I know you know who he is." Morgana was twitching a little from the pain in her leg, and her eyes were threatening to flicker shut. Merlin hated himself for enjoying seeing her suffer.

"I do. And I could tell you, if you want, seeing as you're going to die soon anyway."

Morgana laughed. "As if you could ever kill me," she roared.

"I can!" Merlin shouted back, letting his magic flow like ropes around his wrists. "Because I am Emrys!" He shot a lightning bolt at her to prove his point; it was well known in the Old Religion that Emrys was the only one able to do such things. To shoot a lightning bolt, one of the most powerful elements, was not something that no ordinary sorcerer could do – they required a pure core of magic, which had all been wiped out in the Great Purge…except for Merlin.

Morgana paled. "No…it can't be…" She backed away, now scared, but tumbled over because of the blood spilling from her leg, weakening her muscles. In desperation, she raised a trembling hand and flung a ring of fire at him. It was bright and red and orange and burning hot, scorching him when it got too close, but small. Her power was obviously diminishing. Merlin halted the fire in mid-air and then tossed it to the side with ease, letting it dissolve, and yelled at Arthur to move before he got himself killed. Merlin could handle Morgana easily, but having to protect Arthur could make things a bit more difficult.

Morgana took advantage of his momentary lapse in concentration to shoot a paralysing spell at him, freezing his arms to his sides. She was obviously under the impression that any major spells he would cast needed his arms; she was wrong. She was foolish to even consider the possibility that Emrys would need more than his mind to destroy her.

Merlin retaliated with a ball of blazing, scorching fire that grazed the side of her face before she managed to dodge it. She shrieked in pain and Merlin followed it up with a blisteringly cold wind that knocked her over again, and then a flock of crows which circled her, pecking at her face and hands with large, ebony beaks.

He was tempted to summon a sword to appear from nowhere and run itself through her heart, and kill her instantly, but he wanted that honour to go to Arthur. She had committed the crimes against him and had betrayed him personally; he should be the one to see the light leave her eyes. Without taking his eyes off Morgana, he called out to his king.

"Arthur! The crows won't attack you." He worked on a way to lay into the spell Morgana had placed on him in his mind, but it was unfortunately extremely powerful and a lot of his magic was focused on keeping the crows attacking Morgana, not leaving a lot free for him to use for anything else.

"What?" Arthur had been watching from the side-lines, and was obviously confused about all of the events. It was overwhelming, Merlin supposed, but he really needed Arthur to not be a clot-pole right then.

"You should be the one to kill her," he shouted. "I will keep her busy."

Arthur looked sideways at him, and for the first time since Merlin could remember, there was genuine gratitude in his eyes that he wasn't trying to cover up with some form of irritation or arrogance. "Thank you, Merlin," he said, just loudly enough to be heard over the cacophony of squawks from the crows and Morgana.

Arthur stepped towards his sister slowly, with his sword in front of him, until he had the blade pushed against her chest. Merlin saw the fear in her eyes as she pleaded with Arthur, the words not reaching him, but that only seemed to push him over the edge. He saw a vicious look in his eyes as Arthur stared down at the person who had betrayed him, and knew instinctively what was going to happen.

He stepped forward to put more force into the thrust, and the blade went in silver and came out red. Morgana fell to the ground, choking, and Merlin commanded his crows to leave her be. He couldn't deny the sick pleasure he got from watching his enemy die. The crows flew upwards in a spiral, disappearing when they collided with each other, and Merlin finally concentrated on breaking the immobilisation spell.

Arthur dropped his sword when Morgana took her last breath. He moved jerkily, seemingly shocked and dazed, and then prodded Morgana with his foot to insure that she was actually dead this time. He turned to Merlin, death and life in his eyes, and before the servant could do anything, Arthur rushed towards him and grabbed him in a hug. Merlin winced a little at the sudden contact with his injuries, but allowed himself to relax into the grip of his friend. He felt safe for the first time in a long time.

"Damn it, Merlin! Don't do that again!" he hissed.

"What, get captured against my will?" Merlin had known Arthur for so long now that he wouldn't put it past him to blame Merlin for this.

"Yes, that!" Arthur released him, tears shining in his eyes. "What did she do to you?"

"Broke my knees, broke all of my fingers, whipped me, froze me, burnt me…lots of things." Merlin regretted his words as soon as he saw the horror on Arthur's face

"Merlin," Arthur said hoarsely, letting his emotions show for once.

"It's okay. You came." Merlin smiled weakly, still unsure of how Arthur felt towards him, and more specifically his magic.

"Of course I came!" Arthur glared at his servant instead of showing how much he cared.

"I was scared you wouldn't," Merlin admitted. "I thought maybe you'd be angry after finding out about my magic." He felt a little faint suddenly, and staggered. Arthur caught hold of his arm and steadied him again.

"You idiot," Arthur sighed. "Come on, let's get back to Camelot, and then we'll sort this out. But know this – I could never hate you."

Merlin smiled and let Arthur lead him outside to where the other knights were waiting. They looked at the pair expectantly, apprehension and excitement in their gazes. "She's dead," Arthur said heavily.

"Team effort," Merlin added, taking his weight off Arthur and leaning against the doorframe. He was exhausted mentally and physically, but right now the physical side was taking priority.

Gwaine obviously noticed his sagging frame, because he moved to hold him up and said cheerfully, "Whose horse is Merlin sharing then?" Only Merlin detected the affection underlaying the knight's words, and the protectiveness that said to the servant, "My horse. Nobody else's."

"Nobody's, considering he teleported them back to Camelot," Percival grinned. "I tried to get him to leave but he refused."

"Oh great," Arthur said. "Great plan, Merlin."

"I can teleport us back too, clot-pole." Merlin muttered a string of words under his breath, his eyes flashed gold, and then they were just outside the gates of Camelot. He leant against Gwaine's support now more than ever, the strong magic weakening him more.

"That was awesome," Gwaine said appreciatively, looking around him as though he couldn't quite believe what had just happened. "I think we should get Merlin to Gaius," he added, noticing that the serving boy looked extremely pale now.

Arthur looked at his manservant, distracted by what had happened too, and paled himself. Merlin looked terrible. They had all been so awe-struck by his use of magic and relieved to have found him that none of them had noticed just how weak Merlin was. "Percival, can you carry him?" The big knight nodded and picked him up immediately, ignoring Merlin's protests.

"Let's go."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: And the story is officially over! Whaaaaat? I know! It's been so long in the making (mostly due to my hiatus *cough*) and it's so weird that it's all over! I've gotten so much support for this story and it's been absolutely amazing; writing this story has been so much fun. It's honestly just so surreal that it's all over :( so of course: massive thank you to everyone who has followed and favourited, and especially to those who have reviewed and offered support and ideas. I bloody love you all.
> 
> There is going to be a sequel so never fear! It's planned but not written, BUT I am planning to start it pretty soon (maybe not next week but the week after that hopefully) and it's going to be called "The Power of Time". If you're following me then obviously you'll get a notification when that goes up, but if you're not I will also post a final 17th chapter on this story announcing the sequel so you will all know when it's up!
> 
> Again, I can't express how grateful I am for everyone's support and kind words with this story, and I love you all.
> 
> Peace,
> 
> ~CordeliaRose


	17. sequel yo

hey guys

 

there's now a sequel to this story

 

The Power of Time

 

thank


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